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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858378">Just Won't Quit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective'>AnnetheCatDetective</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Music [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Devotion, Found Family, Loyalty, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Yearning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:53:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission with surprise difficulties brings a lot of emotions to the forefront, and brings a few secrets out of hiding.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robert Hogan/Peter Newkirk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Music [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/21150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. These Dangerous Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Almost a decade ago, I thought I would try my hand writing for this fandom... I posted the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic intended to be the first in a multi-fic series, and the computer I was working on promptly died, taking all my work with it, and leaving only that single chapter... </p><p>Now, I'm a much better writer than I once was, and I like myself more than I used to, and I find myself really wanting to try and recreate, to the best of my ability, the story I think I wanted to tell.</p><p>This is going to retread a lot of what's in the surviving chapter of 'There's Gonna Be Danger', but I'm starting a little earlier and building it out a little more, and hoping it's going to be a better story in the end, with this second go.</p><p>Not every chapter will contain every POV, but I wanted to start with a touch of everyone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    “Have you <em> ever </em> been in love, Pierre?”</p><p> </p><p>    “What, me?” Peter laughs, and it’s even convincing, if he says so himself. “Falling in love with just one girl isn’t really my style.”</p><p> </p><p>    Technically, he’s not even lying. He’s not in love with just one girl. He does a good job pretending to chase them when the opportunity arises, or whinging about the lack of opportunity when it doesn’t, and the charade is hardly painful. He likes women, he likes making them laugh, he likes to flirt and be flirted with, to hold a door or tip a hat and get a smile… For that matter, he likes dancing, kissing hands, saying pretty things to someone who doesn’t expect he means them very much but is willing to let him carry on. It’s <em> fun</em>, and he’s a social animal at heart, most of the time. He doesn’t make any promises he can’t keep, and he gets to enjoy the reputation of a bit of a bounder, but no one gets hurt.</p><p> </p><p>    Falling in love, though…</p><p> </p><p>    His eyes drift over towards the Colonel, unbidden. He soaks in the sight of him, bent over the coffee pot, face a study in concentration.<em> Love</em>…</p><p> </p><p>    Well, who could blame him? A man like that… who could blame him? A man that good, a man that brave, a man that clever… he was doomed from the start, how could he avoid falling? And he’d known him, he’d known him for what he was right off, in a way he thinks most don’t see. They’re the same, deep down, in a way the others can try to match when it’s for all the right reasons, but… </p><p> </p><p>    But no one else is a born liar, an <em> artiste </em>, in quite the same way. No one else got the measure of him so quick, or appreciated what he was straight away. Hell, he could count the people who’ve appreciated what he is on his fingers, and he sleeps within feet of most of those. Not that he hasn’t had people appreciate parts of the whole, and not that he hasn’t had people care. His family always loved him, sure, but they despaired over him ever being even slightly respectable, and he could never be sure what they approved of the least. His mother worried about him coming to a bad end and his sister made pointed comments about available work doing anything other than picking pockets, cracking safes, cheating at cards, or treading the boards. His friendships, be they among thieves or actors, tended to be transient in nature. People came in and out of his life knowing half of it, or not quite half, and liking the portion they knew fine, but…</p><p> </p><p>    But what was he supposed to do, the first time a man looked him up and down and his eyes lit up in recognition of a kindred spirit? The first time someone took him in, saw all of him, and saw the worth in all of it?</p><p> </p><p>    Or, most of it, at least. There’s the one part he’s kept mum about, and who could blame him for that, as well? The others wouldn’t understand. He’s far from the home where anyone could know that part of him… </p><p> </p><p>    Because he can say ‘who could blame him’ all he likes, but the truth of it is, they would. They’d hate him for it. And he couldn’t bear that now-- couldn’t bear losing these friends, when he’s come to care about all of them so much. Louis, Andrew, Kinch… and of course the man himself.</p><p> </p><p>    So no, if anyone asks, love’s not his style. </p><p> </p><p>    “You English, so cold-hearted.” Louis pulls a face. </p><p> </p><p>    “We can’t all be French.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You can say that again.”</p><p> </p><p>    “And just what good would it do me to be in love, stuck here?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Because! When you can think of that one special girl who is more than other girls, the very thought of her will keep you going in a place like this!”</p><p> </p><p>    “Ah-huh, uh-huh, and how many of those one special girls are there, for you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, back home, three or four.”</p><p> </p><p>    “And you call me unromantic.” He rolls his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>    “All right.” Colonel Hogan puts an end to this round of bickering, straightening up. “They’re keeping a close eye on Steiner over at the hotel. Our best bet is to wait until just before they plan on moving him out to Berlin-- I tip Klink off about the escape some of you guys are planning, he pulls our guards back from the Steiner operation, and while everything’s up in the air over there, our people in town will slip Steiner out. I need volunteers for the big escape.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Think I’m up.” Peter nods, getting to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>    “You sure? You just did a week in the cooler, wasn’t that long ago.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure, but not for escaping.” He shrugs. “Carter and LeBeau‘ve both been over the fence since my last ‘escape’. I don’t mind taking my fair turn.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Good man.” And he steps forward, one hand landing warm and solid at Peter’s side, a pat that then stays put and lingers, and that’s just the way the Colonel is, he knows that. All the touching, he’s not <em> special</em>, he’s not the only one to be granted these little whispers of human intimacy, and they don’t mean half of what he’d like, but each touch is precious just the same, the nearness is. “I’ll round up some of the guys who are in on the game. You know the playbook-- once the escape team is organized, you’re in command there. Kinch is on the radio to the underground, LeBeau’s on lookout duty for Kinch, Carter’s with me, holding down the fort.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I won’t let you down, gov.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I know you won’t.” He nods, his hand is still right <em> there</em>, he holds Peter’s gaze just a little too long, just long enough to make his head spin, to spark that dangerous little flame called hope. “If we can get Steiner to London, with what he knows… this’ll be a big one for us. It’s not every day we turn a big shot with the kind of security detail Steiner rates…”</p><p> </p><p>    The feeling of hope is as fleeting as it is pointless. The touch ends, Colonel Hogan moves on, Carter says something to him, he responds, Peter is left trying to remember what normal looks like. He’s used to keeping that traitorous part of himself hidden, outside of the proper circles-- circles where he doesn’t think of it as particularly traitorous, divisive, difficult. But so much of keeping it hidden comes down quite simply to the way no one really <em> sees </em> it. No one knows to look. Hiding’s just a matter of knowing when to keep your mouth shut, when the people around you are no more perceptive than average.</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan is perceptive.</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan is also… well, he’s seen the Colonel with women. Wasn’t a look lingering enough to erase what he knows about the Colonel with women. And the fact that he could get close to a girl now and then meant there was no chance he’d turn to a man. Career army, an officer, it’d be suicide to <em> choose </em> him-- choose any man-- with women a possibility. Even if he had it in him to fancy both sides of the fence, the grass is hardly greener… So there’s no point in indulging those moments of hope, the flames fanned by those little moments that seem to stretch on between them, no sense in dwelling on what-ifs.</p><p> </p><p>    Still, there’s no denying he feels something, being trusted to call the shots on his end of the operation. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    It’s a bit of a scramble to get all the dominoes in place, but once they’re set, Rob feels good about it. All the moving parts are in the hands of people he trusts absolutely. He couldn’t ask for a better man at the command center than Kinch, a second-in-command he trusted to know what he would do if a call needed to be made, but also one he trusts to know better, when ‘what Hogan would do’ might end in disaster. On the other end, Tiger would have everything under control, with a solid team, people he knows they can depend on for an important job. As far as a partner-in-crime for giving Klink the run-around back at camp, Carter is always ideal for faux-innocent obstruction. And Newkirk…</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t need to worry about Newkirk. He knows he doesn’t. </p><p> </p><p>    Peter Newkirk could run a phony prison camp break in his sleep, he’ll be with Olsen, Walker, and Fletcher-- a small team of dependable men-- the dogs are all well-trained, the guards are complacent enough that they rarely get trigger happy during escapes… and they don’t need to draw the escape out, they can surrender safely as soon as they’re spotted, having the guards back at camp rather than being lent out for Steiner’s security detail is the only aim here. It’s about as foolproof as things get.</p><p> </p><p>    He shouldn’t be poring over plans and fretting, he doesn’t know why he should… Newkirk and Olsen are as dependable as he could ask for. Fletcher and Walker are new, but they’re solid. Fletcher’s got about a head of height on Rob, built like a sonofagun. Walker’s got some good muscle as well-- not that they’re going to use it on this op, they’re going to surrender in fairly short order, but still. It’s good having them in on things, and breaking them in on some easier jobs. He can talk Klink down on the length of Fletcher and Walker’s punishments, they’re ‘the new guys’, first attempt… he <em> might </em> even be able to bargain with him on Olsen. Newkirk’s in for a long, dull punishment, though. </p><p> </p><p>    Which is nothing to lose sleep over-- it’s far from the worst that could happen in their line of work. It’s what he volunteered for.</p><p> </p><p>    He’s off his game, that’s all. There’s nothing he needs to worry about, more than he’d worry about any other mission, he’s just… off. And Newkirk is sharp enough to notice it.</p><p> </p><p>    “Something the matter, gov?” He shifts closer, even though they’re alone, voice low. Serious. </p><p> </p><p>    Rob shakes his head. “No, no. Everything should go just fine. I’m not worried about this one-- not logically. Steiner’s not a prisoner, he’s under protection-- they don’t know he wants out, and he’s too smart to let on. One of his bodyguards is making the trip with him, that means with your escape pulling the extra security detail, our people won’t have any trouble overpowering whatever’s left, I just… Feeling restless, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Rather be out there yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Maybe so. But I know where I’m needed.” He shrugs. “You’ll play it the way I would.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You can count on me, Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>    There’s a heavy earnestness in his gaze, when had that happened? When had he earned this kind of loyalty, from a man he knows hasn’t thought much of any kind of authority in his life. How had he? Sure, he’s got a good record for successes and he’s kept the men safe, and talked down a lot of punishments, gotten them a few privileges here and there, and there’s a kind of loyalty he does expect, and men he expects more or less of it from, but… </p><p> </p><p>    It doesn’t feel <em> military</em>, with Newkirk. What’s more, he doesn’t want it to. It <em> affects </em> him, that it isn’t, it… whenever he earned it, he earned it. Not because of his rank, not because of any kind of command structure or sense of duty, he earned this man’s loyalty on the sheer virtue of… well, probably not just one thing, probably it happened after weeks of working shoulder to shoulder, not all at once. </p><p> </p><p>    Not all at once… </p><p> </p><p>    The thought tugs at another, but he can’t quite unravel it, follow the thread. </p><p> </p><p>    Did he respect Peter all at once? Did he know he’d like him the moment he set eyes on him? Of course not, how could he have? How could anyone know someone else at first sight, the way he knows-- the way they all know each other now that they’ve been in it together?</p><p> </p><p>    Still, he did know him-- not as well as he knows him now, and he couldn’t have imagined the closeness-- When they’d met, he’d seen it in the way he moved, in his wary attentiveness, in the patter of his speech and the way his hands danced around anything they held… he’d seen how he was measured, there had been a kind of recognition between them as they’d traded words of no real importance. </p><p> </p><p>    Peter had seen a confidence man, and in Peter, he’d seen… he’d seen <em> everything </em>, or the glimmer of possibility, and he’d known what he could accomplish with a man like that. With men like all of them, they all brought things, necessary things… it’s not that Peter was so different, it’s just that out of all of them, Peter thinks the most like him, he sees the world too much the same way. </p><p> </p><p>    Oh, they have their differences, they’re divided by a common language, but they’re both used to reading people, tailoring themselves to fit and turning on the charm, their own flavors of… gentle manipulation. There’s something they both understand, something he can’t articulate, a… a sense of being kindred spirits, if that’s not too outlandish a thought. </p><p> </p><p>    With a day like he’s having, he doesn’t know what’s outlandish.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>-LOUIS LEBEAU-</p><p> </p><p>    “How many men are you taking with you?” Louis asks. Pierre had emerged from the Colonel’s office a little while ago, quiet, but the tension seems to have drained off him now, after a bit of card-shuffling.</p><p> </p><p>    In lieu of an answer, he fans the deck out, offering the choice of a card with a wordless bob of the eyebrows. Louis sighs and plays along.</p><p> </p><p>    “In your hand, my fine friend, you will find your answer.”</p><p> </p><p>    He looks down at the card. Three of hearts-- and four makes a reasonable number for an escape, a distraction the size they need.</p><p> </p><p>    “How did you know which card I would take?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Because I put it in your hand. ‘S called a ‘force’. Trade secret.”</p><p> </p><p>    “How’s it work?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Ah, that I can never tell.” He shakes his head, a purposefully silly tone of self-importance coloring his voice. “Some secrets are worth more than my life, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>    “And magic tricks are among them?”</p><p> </p><p>    Pierre just nods, taps at his temple, and Louis rolls his eyes and goes back to the stove. </p><p> </p><p>    “All right, all right. So who are you taking?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well. There’s me.” He throws down the ace of hearts, then the king, queen, and jack. “Olsen, Fletcher, Walker.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You are in charge of two new guys?”</p><p> </p><p>    “All we have to do is get collared, it’s not rocket science.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, it better not be.” He laughs. “At least Olsen is with you also.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm… figure we’ll pair off two and two, show the new lads the ropes, keep it simple. Walker seems like a likable enough sort. Sure we’ll have loads of laughs escaping together.”</p><p> </p><p>    He can only imagine Pierre has decided to go with Walker when pairing off in order to not be stuck with either American, which is the same choice he would make in his place. Not that Olsen and Fletcher aren’t sound, not that he isn’t very fond of the three Americans in the command team, but… well, of course the pairing off would have to be one experienced and one not, and given the choice between a stranger who is American and a stranger who is not, Louis would take the stranger who is not. Provided, of course, that that stranger was not English. But, a Canadian… Walker speaks French badly, but he makes the attempt to learn better, and he always volunteers to help Louis with anything that needs doing, when it comes to cooking, even just hauling sacks of potatoes that weigh about as much as Louis himself does. He’s… quiet. A little strange and a little sad, sometimes, but the kind of man it’s easy enough to get along with.</p><p> </p><p>    He is not only helpful to Louis, it’s not that he extends to him any special favors-- he is comfortable in the kitchen, so he volunteers to help him more often, but he is part of the team because the first thing he did upon arriving in camp was put himself at the Colonel’s complete disposal, and when asked if he could keep a secret, he’d given a rare little laugh and said he could take a secret to his grave. And… it is Pierre he gravitates to the most, outside of helping in the kitchen or practicing his French with Louis. </p><p> </p><p>    It’s funny, they don’t particularly do anything together. Only Walker always chooses to sit near him when there is a space available. He doesn’t join in card games, but he watches sometimes. He looks up from the book he’s reading and looks to Pierre before relaxing, as though he’d chosen him out of everyone in the barracks, to serve as his barometer for security. Perhaps in the absence of a fellow countryman, he’s decided upon Pierre, as the next best thing, or perhaps he reminds him of a brother back home… Louis imagines if he had an older brother like Pierre he might also have become the kind of man who sits quietly by, and listens, and watches, and wants no attention for himself. But… who is helpful, and easy enough to get along with.</p><p> </p><p>    Fletcher is their newest arrival, and as strange Americans go, Louis likes him also, though he doesn’t know him well and if he was going to partner with someone, Fletcher wouldn’t be his first choice, even for an easy operation. But then, no one outside of the command team would ever be his first choice for something… unless he was given the option to work with a girl.</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>-JAMES KINCHLOE-</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, Kinch? What do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>    He leans back in his chair, looking up at Hogan. “I think it’s a solid plan, most of the op is pretty standard. We trust the underground members. As far as I’m concerned, the bodyguard is where it all falls apart.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You think?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No. I don’t know. Steiner’s genuine-- you spoke to him when they visited the camp. If you trust him, then I trust him. Hell, in his place, I’d do the same, a lot of scientists got out before the war just because they saw how things were going. No trust in academic types, even the ones they need. Same story we hear every time a scientist gets out. But the bodyguard? What does he want?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Personal loyalty.” Hogan frowns softly, leaning one hip against the table. “Ritter may be a company man, Ehrlich belongs with Steiner.”</p><p> </p><p>    “They grow up together?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I didn’t get that part.” He shakes his head. “But I saw them together. I don’t think he’ll be a problem-- or if he is, it’ll be because he thinks he knows better than someone else, not because he’d betray Steiner. He’s like…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Like?”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan struggles a moment more, with something difficult to define.</p><p> </p><p>    “Look, you’re loyal to me, right?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Loyal as they come, Colonel.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Right. But you’re still… you’re your own man.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ll argue with you if I think you’ve got something wrong. If it’s for the good of the team, for the good of the mission.”</p><p> </p><p>    “That’s not how I mean. I mean… seeing them together, it was like-- Ritter took his orders from the officer they were with, Ehrlich didn’t even <em> look </em> at him. He was… focused.”</p><p> </p><p>    “A lot of bodyguards are, aren’t they? All part of the job.”</p><p> </p><p>    “He takes his orders from Steiner, not from his CO, that’s what I’m saying. So if he’s a problem, it won’t be because of loyalties.”</p><p> </p><p>    “So if you’re not worried about the bodyguard, what are you worried about?”</p><p> </p><p>    That’s the magic question, but Hogan hasn’t got an answer. He can see that. One thing he respects about the man, he’s straight with him when he hasn’t got answers. He doesn’t bluff or bluster. He admits to it when he’s worried, but usually when he’s worried, he knows <em> why</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    “The escape. I don’t know.” He lets out a heavy sigh, leans further into the table.</p><p> </p><p>    “You’ve got Olsen, Walker, and Fletcher going with Newkirk? Who are you worried about?”</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t answer, but this time Kinch thinks maybe it’s not because he doesn’t know the answer. No, he’s holding back something.  He trusts him well enough to assume whatever it is isn’t important, not mission important. He would tell him if it was. If he had doubts about either of the new guys, he wouldn’t keep that a secret. He’d conference with Kinch and with Newkirk about it at the least, maybe the whole command team, maybe pull in Olsen, or the men in question, but he wouldn’t sit on an unnecessary risk if we had options, and he wouldn’t be dishonest about the type of risk he thought any of us were taking. So this… he doesn’t know. </p><p> </p><p>    “Walker and Fletcher are untested, that troubling you?” He presses him.</p><p> </p><p>    “No. They both know what they’re fighting for here. And they both know how to follow orders. They’re good men, and they’re in good hands. Everyone has his first taste of the game at some point, this is as soft an introduction as a guy could get… that doesn’t trouble me.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Olsen seem off his game to you? Thinking you ought to hold him back on this one and send someone else? Swap him with LeBeau?”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan grunts, pushing off from the table and folding his arms across his chest, pacing. </p><p> </p><p>    “Olsen’s good to go. He’s in good shape, no.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’re not worried about Newkirk.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Newkirk’s going to do what I would do.” He says, but it’s not exactly the same as ‘of course I’m not worried about Newkirk, Kinch, don’t be ridiculous’. </p><p> </p><p>    “All right. Then there’s no problem.”</p><p> </p><p>    Someone else might not notice how hollow his smile rings, someone who didn’t know him so well. James Kinchloe knows him well enough to see, when he laughs, when he nods. He might not be able to put his finger on the problem, but something about this mission has him rattled. </p><p>
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</p><p>-ANDREW CARTER-</p><p> </p><p>    With Klink tipped off about Newkirk wanting to use the thinned out guard to escape, he was working on calling back as many of the guards he loaned out as possible. In ‘secret’, like it was going to surprise Newkirk and the guys once they got past the fence. </p><p> </p><p>    Andrew was sticking with the Colonel, or, the Colonel was in Klink’s office giving Klink the runaround, and Andrew was outside it, giving Schultz the runaround, and Hilda was outside being a general distraction, on account of Colonel Hogan asked her if she would. </p><p> </p><p>    Well, ‘asked’... ‘bribed’, really, he’s always got something hard to find to slip to her. He kisses on her some, but that’s not why she says yes, or at least not alone. Andrew would think it was pretty cold of her to want him to smuggle her contraband in exchange for a little favor, only she isn’t supposed to do them any favors at all anyway, and… </p><p> </p><p>    And he guesses he thinks she’s pretty nice, really. It’s just funny sometimes, watching the two of them flirt, like they’re going through the motions, following a script until they can just talk about what they each really want. Not like they don’t look like they’re having fun with it! Boy, they look like they have some fun with it, all right. But it’s…</p><p> </p><p>    It’s all playing parts. He’s only pretending to be the casanova as part of this game, and she’s only pretending to be some silly girl whose head gets turned too easy. Just like Andrew’s only pretending to be a bumbling idiot.</p><p> </p><p>    Then again, so is Schultz. </p><p> </p><p>    The Colonel pretends to be Casanova with Hilda, and he pretends to be a model prisoner with Klink, and Klink pretends to be a competent officer, and right now, Andrew and Schultz are just pretending to be dumb at each other even though he thinks they both know… But it’s not like Schultz wants to do his job, and Andrew playing dumb and getting in his way means he’s got an excuse to not do much of it.</p><p> </p><p>    It’s keeping up appearances this time, establishing his excuse for stumbling into places he doesn’t really belong, so that when the escape does get staged, he’s just Carter being Carter, not a guy buying the escape team a little time by tying up as many guards as possible.</p><p> </p><p>    As roles go, he’s comfortable with this one. The Colonel had said something to him once, about the advantages of letting your enemy underestimate you, and Andrew thinks he’s right about that. Not just the usefulness of it, but the fun, also.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Minute of Peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the escape team gets thrown in the cooler, everyone is still waiting on word back from the underground...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    He’d said he wouldn’t let the gov down, and he doesn’t intend to. He and Olsen are agreed on Escape Pattern C, they’ve split themselves up and taken position. When he gets the signal from Andrew, he passes it on to Olsen, and they’re off. </p><p> </p><p>    The dogs are leading the guards off on a wild goose chase, which gives them some time, but he knows the guards that were called back are out there lying in wait somewhere. Their job is to pretend to be taken by surprise when they find the ‘ambush’, but they’ve got to make it look good, after all. Can’t give themselves up right away.</p><p> </p><p>    Walker’s tireless enough, keeps pace with him as well as anyone else might’ve done. Every so often he catches a look at him with just enough moonlight to see how… well, <em> hunted </em> he seems, this first time out. Last time he was running from the krauts, it was for real-- he’s not yet used to the dogs being on their side, it takes time to learn to trust, when you hear the barking and the shouting. Still, he doesn’t flag or fall apart, and he moves through the forest like a man who’s at ease with the wilderness, even if this particular patch of it’s unfamiliar.</p><p> </p><p>    A phony escape attempt gives him the opportunity to learn a bit of it, at least, before he’s out beyond the fence for real, and there’s nothing they can really bungle at this juncture. </p><p> </p><p>    Peter knows his own punishment will be harsh-- he’ll be the example set to the new lads, if not to Olsen as well. Klink’s a softie compared to some out there, though, he knows that, too. Sure, he’ll be punished, but it’ll be with boredom. He’d undertake the threat of worse-- has and will again-- for Colonel Hogan. </p><p> </p><p>    He thinks about it sometimes, about the worst that could happen. He likes to imagine he’d go nobly if it came to the worst. That he’d say it’s a far, far better thing than he’s ever done, and a far, far better rest he’s going to, all that. That he’d be brave, really brave. He doubts he could be, he never feels it. He doesn’t do the things he does out of bravery. Only because someone has to, because if he doesn’t do this job now… Because it’s necessary, and because Louis had been so eager to, and what was he going to do? Let his little mate get into trouble without him?</p><p> </p><p>    He likes to think if he meets his end doing this, he’ll be able to fake it, at least, bravery. He doesn’t hold any illusions, not about himself and not about what he means to people, but if he could… If he could be brave enough, if he could go out saving any of his mates, then they’d remember him as a better man than he’s used to being. Maybe one of them would name a son for him, or visit his family before going home, or…</p><p> </p><p>    Or think on him, now and then, and be proud of him. That’s the best kind of immortality, isn’t it?</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be that brave, he doesn’t know if he could be. He knows that if meets his death saving the life of any one of his near and dear, he won’t regret it, even if he’s bleeding terrified. And he knows the likelihood of any harm coming to him tonight is low enough that he needn’t dwell on the what ifs. </p><p> </p><p>    “Is it always like this?” Walker asks him, when they’re a few meters past the fence and taking a breather in a copse of trees. </p><p> </p><p>    “Usually harder. You rethinking the job, mate?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Please.” Peter snorts. “I’m not ‘sir’ to anyone. I definitely don’t outrank you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You do at this.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well. Still not a ‘sir’. You all right? Ready to keep your cool when they round us back up?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes, Sir-- um, sorry. Newkirk.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Don’t worry about it. This is going to be your first time in the cooler, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t mind that.” Walker shakes his head. “I know how to be my own company.”</p><p> </p><p>    He says it with a calm enough authority and Peter doesn’t doubt he means it, but it’s always worse than you think it’s going to be, your first time...</p><p> </p><p>    “Everyone thinks that, before he goes in. But… well, some of the guards’ll turn their heads, long enough for someone to slip you a hot meal now and then. Won’t get more than a minute of conversation at a time, most like, but you’re a first time offender, that’ll count for something.” He says, freezing at the sound of passing boots, the panting of the dogs coming back around. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself up out of his crouch. “Come on, then, showtime. <em> Oi, all right, all right, we surrender! Call the dogs off, then, Fritz</em>!”</p><p>
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</p><p>-LOUIS LEBEAU-</p><p> </p><p>    The men are confined to barracks, with the exception of the Colonel-- and Carter-- who managed to plant themselves in Klink’s office before the escape and haven’t been marched back across the camp yet. Louis finds himself keeping an eye out for them as much as for anyone coming to check on the prisoners. </p><p> </p><p>    Olsen and Fletcher are brought back in first. He watches the first group of guards split off, half to take the prisoners to Klink’s office, half to get the dogs back to their kennel-- something the dogs are in no mood to cooperate with. It’s a show, at least. Lookout duty is always the worst combination of stress and tedium, watching Heidi knock a guard flat on his back breaks up the fearful monotony of keeping watch. </p><p> </p><p>    Not that he plays favorites, but he might just have to sneak her a little something special. It’s rare that he can spare something, but sometimes it’s worth setting aside some choice scraps, to remind the dogs whose side they’re really on, or to thank them for being such good boys and girls. </p><p> </p><p>    Wolfie slips his lead entirely before he can be kennelled and leads three guards on a chase, before the rest of the search party returns with Pierre, and Walker. </p><p> </p><p>    Louis only just manages to get Kinch back, before Schultz marches Carter in.</p><p> </p><p>    “Well?” He demands, once the coast is clear again.</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, I’ll have to get back on the horn after lights out.” Kinch folds his arms, leaning against the bunk. “Everything was in place going in, that’s all I know. The guards got pulled, Tiger took her team out, but until they get back to radio in, everyone’s waiting around.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, the fellas are back okay from the escape attempt. Klink tried to have Schultzie send me and the Colonel both back here, but he said he’s got a right to be present when the men get their punishments. The usual.”</p><p> </p><p>    He would have told Carter to go and get a cup of coffee if they were meant to listen in-- if it’s the usual, there’s nothing to overhear except for the Colonel arguing with Klink about the length of everyone’s punishment. </p><p> </p><p>    “I’ll start on dinner, then, shall I?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Nothing much to do but hurry up and wait, you might as well.” Kinch nods, patting his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>    “What kind of mood do you think mon Colonel will be in?”</p><p> </p><p>    “He’ll be relieved the escape went well.” Kinch’s expression goes all faraway, thoughtful. “Everyone’s back with no snags, no one likes a stint in the cooler but it’s hardly the worst thing in the world in this camp. He’s been antsy about it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Eh bien. I meant for dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, that’s easy.” Carter’s face splits into a grin. “Beef bourguignon. The Colonel always says you do the best job anyone ever did of making beef bourguignon without any beef or any bourguignon.”</p><p> </p><p>    “This is true.” He allows himself a little pride in that. </p><p> </p><p>    They haven’t got much to work with-- some dried-out mutton, half a bottle of what Pierre had perhaps generously referred to as ‘plonk’, which was most certainly not any closer to a good bourguignon than mutton was to beef, but… he’s made do with less. And they have a few vegetables. </p><p> </p><p>    Louis works and Carter talks, and that is comfortable. Oh, others talk also, the group of men at the table playing cards, they all talk-- they even manage to cajole Kinch into joining them. But… it is comfortable, to have Carter talking to him at the stove. It’s not that he would feel apart from the others without it-- the barracks are not so large as to leave him lonely, and in general he likes to hear people talk and laugh while he is cooking, the world feels most right then, but…</p><p> </p><p>    It just <em> is</em>, with Carter, who recounts everything he and the Colonel had done, all the things not consequential enough to inform them of officially, the little nuances of their performance as they’d made a nuisance of themselves in Klink’s office. No doubt the Colonel will come away with some sort of extra information gleaned, in addition to their main mission of slowing things down and keeping Klink off-balance, something valuable, but there is a pleasure in this, talking just to share the amusement and not to impart anything of greater value than that. </p><p> </p><p>    It’s the kind of thing that makes the barracks a home, when they all need it to be one.</p><p>
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</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, come on, Kommandant, have a heart!” </p><p> </p><p>    “I have had quite enough heart, your men attempted an escape. Might I remind you--” Klink rises from his chair, finger already wagging.</p><p> </p><p>    “Well with all those guards pulled away at once, you can’t expect them not to try! It’s be like...”</p><p> </p><p>    “Like leaving a prison gate unguarded and expecting all the prisoners to stay inside.” Newkirk says wryly, leaning against Rob’s shoulder. Casual as you please in the face of punishment, no regard for propriety… who could ask for anything more?</p><p> </p><p>    “Exactly like that.” He nods, and slings an arm around Newkirk’s waist in return, thumb rubbing briefly at the softness of his sweater. </p><p> </p><p>    Not as soft, perhaps, or as decorative, as the number Hilda’s sporting out in the outer office, but… comforting to the touch, the sweater and the reassuringly solid man inside it. He likes having Newkirk at his side like this, easy and companionable, likes basking in his good humor as much as he likes having him as backup. </p><p> </p><p>    He’s not sure where the comparison comes from, Newkirk and Hilda, they’re very different people. Built very different, for one thing. Then again, he’s never had to buy Newkirk’s loyalty with a pair of nylons, or had to worry about losing it if he couldn’t keep delivering on his end. Newkirk’s loyalty has never been in doubt-- even when his respect or his compliance might have been hard to come by, his loyalty was never in doubt. </p><p> </p><p>    And he’d probably say nylons was taking it a step too far, even in a disguise that puts his calves on display. He’d probably be right.</p><p> </p><p>    Rob may appreciate Newkirk’s insouciance, but Klink certainly doesn’t, he’s in a fine lather.</p><p> </p><p>    “I have already reduced the punishments for the first-time offenders. Perhaps this will teach them that no one escapes from Stalag Thirteen. But these men ought to know better! And this one!” He stabs a finger in Newkirk’s direction. “He is a troublemaker! Only last week he was responsible for that <em> vulgar </em> graffiti…”</p><p> </p><p>    “I thought the line about Himmler was pretty clever.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes, well-- I mean-- It most certainly was not ‘clever’, Colonel Hogan, I expect better from you! It was puerile, is what it was. One month in the cooler-- no, for the Englander, forty days.”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Kommandant</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>    “And don’t think your whining will do any good, this discussion is over. <em> Dis</em>missed!”</p><p> </p><p>    Rob offers Newkirk a rueful look and a shrug, and gets a smirk and a shake of the head back. He feels a pang of guilt as he turns to Olsen as an afterthought-- he’s got a solid month of his own, he deserves as much consideration. But then, he knows how it goes… nothing but acceptance of the inevitable. A lot of boredom, but it also means some time off of missions, and they’ll sneak a few good meals in to him, maybe a book he can hide under the mattress. And there’s every chance of Rob catching Klink in a better mood on another day and knocking a little more time off everyone’s stint in the cooler. Maybe convince him there’s some task around the compound that only Newkirk or Olsen can handle that would benefit him, in exchange...</p><p> </p><p>    He looks to Walker and Fletcher as well-- they’ve only got ten days each, but they’re both first timers, after all. But they’re taking their cues from the old hands, showing no fear or despair at the prospect. </p><p> </p><p>    “See you in forty, gov.” Newkirk gives him a lazy salute as he passes, and there’s a feeling with no proper name that wells up in him at that. Warmth, fondness, tempered with a sharp upset. An ache that sits on his gut even as he returns the salute and the crooked smile that comes with it, even as he leaves the office. </p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t go in a hurry, he wants to keep an eye on things as the men are led to the cooler, but the guards don’t shove-- Schultz is back and in charge of escorting them, even out of earshot he can see when Newkirk says something to make him laugh, his attempt at looking stern and unamused even though his shoulders had been shaking with it…</p><p> </p><p>    When he does return to the barracks, the mood seems high enough. LeBeau’s cooking smells better than any reasonable expectation, Kinch is smiling… no reason to hang onto any upset, if the others are all at ease, there can’t be, and yet...</p><p> </p><p>    “Good news?” He asks. Maybe that’s what he needs, just to hear that yes, they’re done and nothing went wrong, nothing unexpected, nothing disastrous.</p><p> </p><p>    “Not yet. After lights out I can head back down and get an update, but…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Right.” He nods, patting Kinch’s arm on his way to his quarters. He’d been called up too soon to know how things went on the other end, it happens... Kinch follows after, closing the door softly, waiting. “It’s going to be a quiet forty days, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Forty?” Carter asks, as the door swing right back open again. </p><p> </p><p>    “Just for Newkirk. I’ll talk it down, I’ll figure something out.” Rob leans against his desk, arms folded. Carter shuffles in a little farther, and it’s not long before LeBeau joins them. “It’s not that bad, on the whole. Fletcher and Walker get out in ten, Olsen’s got a month, but if I can talk down Newkirk’s, I can talk down his. Find a reason why Klink needs them out…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Still. No snags in the escape plan-- I mean, this is about what we expected, best case scenario. No one hurt, and it’s not like we can’t get in and out of the cooler.” Kinch says. He doesn’t ask if that settles Rob’s mood, or suggest it was silly to be anxious about something so routine-- a little anxiety is never silly in their line of work, routine operation or not.</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. When Schultz is on duty, we can get the boys a nice, hot meal… check in with ‘em. But no snags, that’s right.”</p><p> </p><p>    Newkirk or Olsen would have signalled him if there had been anything wrong, if there had been any kind of slight injury he’d know to have Wilson slip in and look them over, if… Well, he doesn’t know what other ifs there could be, all things considered, but he knows he’d know if there was an if. So why does he still feel so out-of-sorts? Like there’s something <em> wrong </em> hanging over him. More importantly, what’s a guy gotta do to get rid of that feeling?</p><p>
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</p><p>-JAMES KINCHLOE-</p><p> </p><p>    As much as the beefless, bourguignonless beef bourguignon improves the general mood, it seems like the Colonel won’t rest easy until they hear that their friends in the underground got out with Steiner. Sure, they pulled their side of the job off, but there are still pieces in play-- or, there were pieces that had been in play that they hadn’t gotten the full story on yet, which amounts to the same thing or close enough to it. </p><p> </p><p>    He knows how Hogan feels, he’s never comfortable leaving the radio when there’s still anything up in the air. Sometimes it’s unavoidable. If all the prisoners have to be accounted for, nobody can be down on the radio… </p><p> </p><p>    So he does his best, on nights like this, to keep his spirits up. To let himself be cheered or distracted when there’s nothing else for it. Play a round of cards or toss a ball around, depending on whether he’s expected to be out in the yard or confined to the barracks, talk to the people he best gets along with, the command crew and the close friends he’s made outside it. </p><p> </p><p>    You do the things you have to, to keep going, that’s just the way it is. That’s just every day of the war.</p><p> </p><p>    Normally, the Colonel does a pretty good job of that himself. Tonight, he’s distant. Distracted. If someone gets his attention, he’ll talk, laugh, smile, but there’s a tautness somewhere… a string pulled back nearly to its breaking point. The only question is, when it snaps, will it set him free or leave him to collapse?</p><p> </p><p>    Maybe that depends on the news they get… but he’s never fallen apart completely, not when he’s had men depending on him, not through some of the darkest times. So if he collapses, he’ll pull himself back together in short order.</p><p> </p><p>    It’ll be the command crew’s job to see that he has the support he needs.</p><p>
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</p><p>-ANDREW CARTER-</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ll take Newkirk his supper.” Andrew volunteers. They have a little while before lights out, but it’s late enough that the guard has relaxed, and it’s just Schultz dozing in his chair down in the cooler. </p><p> </p><p>    “No, I’ll do it.” Colonel Hogan hops up from his seat before Andrew can stand, starts putting a plate together. </p><p> </p><p>    “Oh. Well…”</p><p> </p><p>    “We’ve got five plates to take down, Carter, you’ll still get to see him if you want to give me a hand.” He says, a little more gently. </p><p> </p><p>    And of course Andrew wants to see him! Peter’s only probably his very best friend in the whole place, maybe in the whole world even though he’s known a lot of guys longer, and Louis is close. It’s funny, he never calls him ‘Peter’ out loud, really, and he could because it’s not like Peter doesn’t call him ‘Andrew’ some of the time, and even if he didn’t, well, what would he do about it? Why would he complain? But he’d never just think of him as ‘Newkirk’, either, it’s an awful formal way to think about a guy who’s probably your very best friend. </p><p> </p><p>    So Andrew grabs a plate, and Mills and Parker both grab plates, and Louis takes a plate to bribe old Schultzie with, un-beef bourguignon and mock apple strudel, which Andrew had helped out with on account of they were out of apples and so Louis thought he couldn’t do a strudel, but Andrew’s mom always made mock apple pie and they did have crackers. </p><p> </p><p>    Kinch stays behind, eager to be back on the radio for an update, but he can sneak in and talk to Peter later. The rest of them shuffle over to the cooler with plates in hand, and Schultz does put up an act like he’s really gonna say no, but it’s not much of one. They have until he finishes eating, and Louis stays out with him to try and slow him down. Though, try slowing Schultz down when there’s strudel on the line! He doesn’t have to know it’s made of crackers and not apples.</p><p> </p><p>    Andrew gets to say hi to Peter in passing, barely, before he’s heading around the corner from Peter’s cell to take some supper to Fletcher, and then he feels so guilty at the thought of dropping off food and running that he hangs around to keep Fletcher company, not wanting Peter to be the only one getting any attention. He knows Mills will chat to Olsen a while, at least, and he doesn’t know if Parker will talk to anyone in particular or head back and let Louis off or what, but it’d feel awful mean to just leave Fletcher to eat all alone when Peter’s got the Colonel to cheer him up and it’s not like he won’t still be able to see him some. </p><p> </p><p>    Anyway, Fletcher’s a swell guy. He’s real good at impressions, which is why they wanted to make sure he came on the team. He’s just gotta get good enough at speaking German is all, but he can do the accent real good even if his grammar’s awful, and he likes football okay but he’s not crazy about it, and any time he sees someone having a rough time, he always tries to help a guy out. And he’s not all girl crazy, like most of the guys get, he’s got a sweetheart who’s a nurse stationed in Hastings, and he doesn’t look at any other gals on account of he figures he’s got the best one already. He’s a lot like the guys back home, the kind of guys Andrew’s always been friends with-- he’s a lot like Andrew even, except for he doesn’t know much about blowing things up, just a real solid joe.</p><p> </p><p>    It’s hardly the guy’s fault that Peter is Andrew’s best friend in the whole stalag and maybe the whole world and he can’t be Peter. Peter’s already Peter.</p><p>
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</p><p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    “Brought you dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>    Peter is at the bars in a flash, breaking into a grin. There’s a place in the door to slide a tray through, and he takes it.</p><p> </p><p>    “Beef burgundy and apple strudel?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Eh, more or less.” Hogan shrugs, leaning against the bars. The very picture of charm, but then, when isn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>    Peter takes the tray over to his bunk-- such as the bunks in the cooler are-- and leaves it there, returning to the cell door to lean against the bars from his side. </p><p> </p><p>    “You should eat.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It’ll keep a minute.” He wraps a hand around one of the bars. “How’s tricks, gov?”</p><p> </p><p>    “When I know, you’ll know.” And his hand moves to hold the same bar in a loose grip, so close the slightest shift could have them touching. So close he can feel him even when they aren’t quite, and his head bends forward, his tone conspiratorial… and warm. “You all right for now?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You know, me and this cell go way back.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure, you’ve known this cell longer than you’ve known me.” Hogan laughs, hand slipping down the bare millimeter it takes, for the side of his little finger to rest against Peter’s hand. <em> Warm</em>. “It’s not going to be forty days. Give it a week and then I’ll try to spring all four of you, but-- It’s not going to be forty days.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Appreciate that, Sir. Don’t know how I’d cope, whittering on to myself in worry while you and the lads get up to who knows what. Now, I like the safety of being in lock-up, coward that I am, and no doubt about that, but I do worry what’ll become of you if I’m not there to keep an eye.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, sure.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Face it, you’d be lost without me.”</p><p> </p><p>    Something in his smile crinkles at the edges, his free hand slips between the bars, foreknuckle making gentle contact with Peter’s chin.</p><p> </p><p>    “Positively <em> adrift</em>, old chap.” He says, with just a hint of his awful attempt at the accent. And Peter’s heart is in his throat, is swelling up fit to burst and making him lightheaded. </p><p> </p><p>    “Gov…” He begins, and doesn’t know how he means to end it. He shrugs, helpless, caught by the sparkle of the man’s eyes, the nearness of him. So close that if Peter breathes deep he can smell leather and aftershave over the cooler’s damp, and his cooling supper.</p><p> </p><p>    Which he has ignored long enough, only he can hardly bear to break away, to be the one to pull back first from this, this…</p><p> </p><p>    He still doesn’t know what else to say, though Colonel Hogan is waiting on him to say something. His hand steals up to wrap around Hogan’s, where it still hangs onto the bar. One squeeze, he thinks a man as tactile as the Colonel would allow that much, before he drops his hand again.</p><p> </p><p>    “You sure you’re all right?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m sure.” He nods, could kick himself for getting that way, making the man worry. “Just-- appreciate the visit, that’s all. And-- keeping my fingers crossed for some good news from the underground.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ll keep you updated. I, uh…” He shuffles back by half a step, but his hand remains on the bar. “I’d better go and check in with the men. Besides, I promised Carter I wouldn’t monopolize you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Send him over.”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan nods, holding his gaze a moment-- searching him out for something. It’d be uncomfortable, from anyone else, but the Colonel’s seen him from the start, looked at him and figured him all out and… and been all right. If he needs to stare a moment to decide he believes Peter’s as all right as he says he is, that’s fine. In the end he’s satisfied, there’s the flash of a bright, genuine smile before he scurries off to fetch Andrew.</p><p> </p><p>    It’d be nice to talk to a mate-- one he’s not enamored with. Andrew fits the bill. And it’s not a minute before he’s crowding up to the bars to do his own checking-in.</p><p> </p><p>    “Heya, Newkirk. How’d the escape go?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, perfect, exactly as planned.” He grins. “Have fun back at camp?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Boy, did we.” Andrew chuckles. “You shoulda seen the colors Klink turned, he got so mad, couldn’t keep track of what he was supposed to be doing. You’d’ve got a laugh out of it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure I would’ve. Act the whole thing out for me when we have the time?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You bet. Me’n Louis’ll come by later. I told him all about it but I didn’t act it out… and he’s keeping Schultz busy now so he’ll wanna sneak in later and see you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Can’t wait. Dinner and a show.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You better eat before we get back, he’ll be insulted if he comes through that tunnel and you haven’t touched your dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure.” Peter reaches through the bars, giving Andrew a gentle punch in the shoulder, getting a squeeze to the arm in return. </p><p> </p><p>    “Before it gets cold, now.” Andrew adds, with wide eyes, with a little nod, with a painful earnesty that Peter loves despite all his teasing. </p><p> </p><p>    Andrew’s the little brother he never had, and for all that he needles him, tells him to wise up, he’d do about anything to keep this war of theirs from putting a dent in all that innocence and sweetness. </p><p> </p><p>    He didn’t sign up for a family, when he joined the war effort. He never could have expected he’d get one. But that’s what this is, isn’t it? People who care if he eats, people who care that he’s comfortable even when they know he’s safe, who care whether he’s lonely… people who tease him and argue with him and want him around just the same.</p><p> </p><p>    “Before it gets cold.” He promises. “Thanks, Andrew. You’re a gem.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well I didn’t do anything.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, when I say thanks for nothing, then, know I mean it from the very bottom of my heart.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Gosh. Well, I’ll see you later.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You know where to find me.”</p><p> </p><p>    He waves goodbye, and so do the men streaming out, him and the Colonel and Parker and Mills-- and Louis, who pops in just long enough to wave to him and to make sure he’s eating, which he wasn’t, but he makes sure to get a mouthful going when Louis is there to see it.</p><p> </p><p>    Kinch must still be on the radio, since Andrew didn’t mention his coming in, but if he doesn’t slip in overnight, he’ll come by with breakfast, Peter doesn’t doubt it. </p><p> </p><p>    His dinner was probably better when it was hotter, but it’s better than anything he’d be eating if it wasn’t for Louis, and would be even if it was colder still, so he’s not complaining. Well, not without Louis around to throw a fit at him for it. He’s just finishing up when Schultz turns the lights off on them, and he sets his tray down in the dark and settles in for the night, listening to the shuffling and settling in the next cell over, and Schultz’ retreating footfall.</p><p> </p><p>    “Newkirk?” Walker’s voice pierces the quiet, tentative. </p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, mate?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Do you have anyone waiting on you, back at home?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ve got a sister, sends cards and letters when she can, and care packages. You?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I have my mum, and an uncle who, I guess he’s looking after her for me. I mean, she doesn’t need it, only she worries so much, and-- and with me gone there’s no one else to run the family store, you know. So he does that alone. Had to hire a boy to help haul the big bags and crates, kid too young for the army, while I’m here. And-- and a sweetheart, I have a sweetheart back home.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Pretty girl?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No-- Well-- pretty eyes. Brown.” He halts, swallows so hard Peter can hear him from one cell over. “You know when you look up into the night sky when there’s no moon, and it goes on forever? And you’re dizzy from all that dark? Like that.”</p><p> </p><p>    “We’ll keep you in one piece for her.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s not that, it’s-- I mean, I just… Stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Nah, go on.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I guess I thought that maybe you and I had the same-- that we liked the same kind of… that if we got to talking about the people we care for, maybe you’d know what I was talking about. If we had the same taste, in-- girls, or--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Doubt it. I haven’t got any preferences when it comes to girls. I mean, ask anyone, if she’s willing and eager, I’m eager and willing.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Right.” Walker laughs. Not so different from any other time Peter’s heard him laugh, which is to say there’s barely any sound to it and no real mirth. He’s polite, dutiful, helpful, and beneath it all maybe just as cynical as Peter is-- not that he expects many have spotted that side to him. The good nature hides it well enough, he doesn’t burden anyone else with his bitterness, he holds it in in a way Peter never has… but it’s there. </p><p> </p><p>    They might not share the same taste in women, or in not-women, and they may not share the way they express it, but they share a way of looking at the world. To some degree, at least.</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure your bird is lovely, though. I certainly don’t mean I wouldn’t think so. Only that I’ve got no strong opinions on the fairer sex, except that I haven’t seen one in too bloody long.”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, no, um… Forget about it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It just-- it does get lonely, doesn’t it? And… a part of me wishes I was home. But I couldn’t, until it’s over.”</p><p> </p><p>    There are ways of arranging it, of course. Transfers, where men escape from someone else’s custody once they’re out of Stalag 13. But that’s not what Walker’s talking about. He’s talking about being in it for the long haul. Because it’s right? Because he has something to protect and he worries the war could touch it? Or just because he feels the same fervent loyalty to the men around him that so many of them stay in the game for?</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah.” Peter says, in a tone he hopes is reassuring. “We’ll go home when it’s good and over. Get some sleep, it’ll make your stay in the hospitality suite go quicker if you can.”</p><p> </p><p>    “All right. Goodnight.”</p><p> </p><p>    “G’night.”</p><p> </p><p>    Peter doesn’t close his eyes yet, though it’s dark enough it hardly matters. He’s waiting for the scrape of a tunnel opening up, the soft glow of a half-hidden lantern, for Louis and Andrew, maybe Kinch. He doesn’t estimate he has long to wait. As for sleep… well, doesn’t matter when he gets it, until he’s sprung.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Wonder What It Means</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>News from the underground leaves Hogan with more questions than answers...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    The news slams into him, he doesn’t sleep that night.</p><p> </p><p>    All for nothing, everything they’d planned and done, Newkirk getting forty days in the cooler, all the dread… He’s not one for mysticism, for putting more stock in a gut feeling than it deserves, this one wasn’t based in reality, he didn’t <em> know</em>. He’d been anxious about their end of things, but their end of things went fine.</p><p> </p><p>    Tiger had had a partial view through Steiner’s window. Seen the guard fire off one shot, adjust his aim, fire off a second. The underground agents she’d had in the hotel pulled out hearing gunfire from the hallway. Steiner and Ehrlich dead.</p><p> </p><p>    If they’d organized faster, if they’d gotten them out the day before… but there’s really nothing else they could have done different, that he thinks would have made a difference. </p><p> </p><p>    Still, it’s a bitter pill.</p><p> </p><p>    It makes for a bitter week. A feeling of defeat that doesn’t lift from his shoulders, even as he gets his men sprung early from the cooler in order to do a little labor around the camp. </p><p> </p><p>    “We’ll get the next one.” Kinch catches him sulking at the table, over a dinner he hasn’t tasted. Comes up behind him to take his shoulders in a firm, comforting grip. “Any day now we’ll be getting new orders from London and this time we’re going to see the whole job done.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I just don’t understand how they could get so careless right when they were almost home free, how they’d let something slip about the escape…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Ritter probably caught them together.” Walker pipes up. </p><p> </p><p>    Ah. <em> Together</em>. Once the words are spoken, he wonders why he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it before, it suddenly seems so obvious. The strength of Ehrlich’s loyalty, the familiarity and ease in their body language together, the sense of something intense and unspoken in the air that no one seemed to pick up on… </p><p> </p><p>    “You’d think a guy as smart as Steiner’d know to keep his mouth shut about the escape plan when his other bodyguard could just walk in.” Carter says, missing Walker’s meaning.</p><p> </p><p>    “Caught them<em> together</em>, Carter.” Rob frowns. “I don’t think they were talking about the escape.”</p><p> </p><p>    Even with Kinch having let go of him, he can feel the way he shifts behind him, can practically hear him thinking. Carter looks confused, but LeBeau and Newkirk… there’s a grim understanding on their faces.</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s why he wanted to get out of Germany so badly.” He continues, when none of the others say anything. “He knew what would happen if they were caught. And there they were, moments from escape… probably thought Ritter would be away long enough, or thought they would hear the key in the lock when he came back, got carried away thinking about how close to freedom they were…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Some freedom. Just as like to get shot in London as in Berlin.” Newkirk’s mouth twists bitterly. </p><p> </p><p>    “That’s barbaric!” LeBeau pulls a face. “You shoot your own soldiers?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sometimes. At best you get drummed out of service and maybe do a couple years in prison. Maybe you get time taken off the sentence if you let someone try and cure you. But you sure as hell don’t get off free and easy. I suppose the French army was full of nances?”</p><p> </p><p>    “We took any patriotic son willing to fight for la France. We French are free-minded about love. And I do not know about England, but in <em> France</em>, even the homosexuals are brave soldiers. And crack shots.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Even the <em> whats</em>?” Carter’s eyes go wide, and the bickering between Newkirk and LeBeau grinds to a halt.</p><p>
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</p><p>-JAMES KINCHLOE-</p><p> </p><p>    “Steiner and Ehrlich were lovers.” He says, feeling a surge of pity for Carter. “Is the message I’m picking up on here.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It makes a lot more sense if they were, if I’m honest.” Colonel Hogan nods, head down over his coffee. “I knew there was something there… I saw it, I couldn’t… Well, I couldn’t have done anything, if that was it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m not losing sleep over Jerry the Fairy.” Mills snorts, and a couple of the men laugh. </p><p> </p><p>    Newkirk rises, slams the side of his fist against the trick bunk and heads down into the tunnels without a word, and LeBeau sighs, Walker folds his arms. Carter still hasn’t really recovered from the surprise.</p><p> </p><p>    “We lost a rocket scientist.” Hogan snaps, lifting his head. “I don’t care whether or not you liked him, London wanted him for a reason. Maybe we couldn’t help losing him, but we’re not laughing. Am I making myself understood?”</p><p> </p><p>    There are grumbles of assent. Kinch takes his seat next to the Colonel as the men re-settle.</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Homosexual </em>lovers?” Carter says at last, his voice a little high. “Why would a fella want to go and-- with another guy?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, a pretty fraulein is always charming, and usually a lot of fun.” Hogan shrugs, and there’s a ghost of his usual smile, though it fades as he continues. “No one’s saying Steiner’s never had an eye for the ladies. Probably he… he knows when a girl is pretty, how to talk to one. He just… didn’t feel that something you’re supposed to feel with her. Probably tried. Then Ehrlich comes along. He’s ready to protect Steiner with his life, he makes him feel secure. Steiner starts to notice how blue his eyes are. He…”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan drifts to a stop, frowning softly into his coffee cup. He’s thinking all right, and thinking hard. When he gets to his feet and heads for his quarters, Kinch follows. </p><p> </p><p>    “Kinch.” He looks up, as he drops into his chair. “Problem?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I was going to ask you, Colonel. I could see those wheels spinning.”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan chuckles softly. “Yeah. Well.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, nothing you can help with.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Guess it’s too late for Steiner.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Much too late.” He says, tone dark, far-off expression coming back over him. He seems to drift in that place for a while, before his focus snaps back up to Kinch. “What do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>    “About what part?” Kinch asks, but he doesn’t expect he needs to wait for an answer. He’s seen his CO lost before, he’s seen the wheels spin when there was still hope of finding a solution, times they weren’t sure they could come up with one. But this is different. There’s something agonized, that comes with the loss. “I think you said it, Colonel. Man’s death is nothing to laugh about. We promised him something we thought we could deliver, and we promised London something, too. The rest…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Check on Carter, will you? I-- I don’t know… I don’t know what else <em> to </em> say, but-- I don’t know. I have to clear my head about this whole thing, and I just need to know…”</p><p> </p><p>    Kinch salutes, with a slight rolling of the eyes. He needs to know whoever does wind up answering Carter’s questions doesn’t go saying all the wrong things. He doesn’t think any of them know what the right and wrong things to say <em> are</em>, under the circumstances, but he knows one thing, he can do better than a lot of other guys might.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    When he finds himself in the costume shop,  Peter’s heart still feels set to burst out of him. He can’t think of a time he’s felt so exposed, and he showers with a dozen other men at a time. </p><p> </p><p>    Which is something to not think about, just now.</p><p> </p><p>    Why did Walker have to <em> say </em> it? Bringing up Steiner’s secret like that, bringing up the notion of two men, even if it had nothing to do with Peter, it feels-- he feels--</p><p> </p><p>    He can’t breathe. He can’t light a cigarette for his hands shaking, and he can’t breathe, and Hogan, he’d picked right up on what Walker was saying, how…? </p><p> </p><p>    Is it obvious? If Steiner and Ehrlich could be spotted, can he?</p><p> </p><p>    Is that all he’d be, to men he’s worked and fought and lived alongside? A joke and good riddance? Would he be put up against a wall and shot, or would he just have an ‘accident’? How would the word spread, what would they tell his sister happened to him? Would he be remembered for all he’s done, or only for what he is?</p><p> </p><p>    He’s been less terrified looking down the barrel of a gun than he is now, fear knots his stomach and prickles at his skin. He sinks his hands into the fabric of a uniform jacket hanging up waiting for repair just to feel something, touch something, anchor himself to the world before he can be lost to his nerves. </p><p> </p><p>    The costume shop. He’s alone in the costume shop. No one else calls it that, they call it the sewing room, or the wardrobe, or the big closet, but he’s always thought of it as the costume shop. The lights are dim, but not so dim he can’t see everything laid out as he likes it. They all pitch in, yes, with fabricating and repairs and laundering, but Peter had taken on the running of the shop, been allowed to as the team’s best tailor. He’d had experience, worked in costuming for theatre, pitched in doing costume repairs in his time with the circus, too. Not to mention just doing mending around the home and the like. And the skill’s been too useful to the job, for anyone to ask if it wasn’t a feminine occupation-- but then, most of the fellows in the camp can do their own mending, one or two fill the time making scrap quilts and he’s not the only knitter. A useful skill is a useful skill. And if there’s a difference between making a fake uniform or a warm scarf and being able to throw together costumes from Shakespearean to acrobat, well, it hasn’t come up.</p><p> </p><p>    He’s getting too in his head, too in his fears. He’d wanted to avoid that, but maybe there is no avoiding it. </p><p> </p><p>    He’s alone in the costume shop. There’s work he could do, if he could get his hands to stop shaking. This used to be where he felt safest, nothing feels safe now… It was the shape of the dug-out little room, yes, and the racks of clothing, and the familiarity of all the little tasks, it was the scent of wool and cotton and damp earth, it was the shadows when the lights were low, it was his own little haven in the middle of the war to come here and do a bit of work, even just mess about not getting anything done, but somewhere comfortable. Maybe he never should have let himself feel comfortable in the first place.</p><p>
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</p><p>-ANDREW CARTER-</p><p> </p><p>    “C’mon, take a walk.” Kinch nods to the door. Some of the fellas have already headed out, after lunch and after-- well, after everything-- and Andrew had been uncertain about doing anything, about going or staying or following Kinch and the Colonel, or following Peter and Louis… it’s kind of a relief to just be told.</p><p> </p><p>    Kinch leads him out to the bench, where they both lean back against the wall and spend a moment in silence.</p><p> </p><p>    “Look… if you’ve got questions, about any of this, I probably don’t have answers.” Kinch says at last. “But you can ask anyway, and we can figure our way through it. If, I don’t know, if any part of that talk… bothers you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I guess it does.” He nods slowly. “I mean, I guess it bothers me they killed him for that, when he could’ve really helped us out. I don’t pretend I understand what you’d wanna do with a guy, but it just doesn’t seem like any kind of a reason to shoot a man, that’s all. I mean, not if he never bothered you! He didn’t bother any of us, when he was here. I never would’ve guessed he was funny that way from how he treated me or you, or anyone. You know?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. I guess I do.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, what do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I think it’s a shame we couldn’t get him to London.” Kinch shrugs. “Like you said, he didn’t bother any of us, we never would’ve guessed, so… I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know what you even do with a fella, boy…” Andrew frowns briefly. “Well, I do figure you kiss a fella the same way you’d kiss anyone, to start with, but I don’t know what to do after that.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Andrew, you don’t know what to do after that with a girl.” He teases, and just like that, the mood seems a little bit lighter, and Kinch elbows him, so Andrew elbows back.</p><p> </p><p>    “Hey, I had a fiancee, you know. For a little while. I do know a thing or two about a girl! Like a couple of places you try and put your hands if she’ll let you, that you can’t do with a man. Not that my gal was like that, but I mean, some girls are. I mean if you ask nicely or you give ‘em a real good reason. I had a real good reason once but I was afraid to ask…”</p><p> </p><p>    Truth be told, he hadn’t been in any real hurry-- even when he knew he’d be shipping out, and he could’ve asked her for something to remember, that hadn’t seemed half as important as he’d have thought. Proposing felt important, kissing her felt important, and talking, and planning, and holding her close, and the rest he figured would be fine when it happened, when he got back and they got married.</p><p> </p><p>    Just goes to show you, he guesses. But life goes on. Maybe it’s just as well. The right one will come along and eventually he’ll have more or less the life he had planned on. </p><p>
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</p><p>-LOUIS LEBEAU-</p><p> </p><p>    He finds Pierre exactly where he’d expected to, having given him a moment to cool off. He’s not entirely sure what he’d planned to say, but his plans change just the same, seeing the state his friend is in.</p><p> </p><p>    Pierre is sitting at the sewing table, in the dark, holding a torn officer’s overcoat in his lap. Not working, and certainly not relaxing. But not fuming, either. If he had been, Louis might have told him off for a bad attitude, they might have bickered a while and found themselves in a better mood. </p><p> </p><p>    He had been angry before, disgusted, Louis had naturally assumed over the revelation about Steiner. Seeing him now, he doesn’t think that’s the case.</p><p> </p><p>    “What do you want?” He asks dully, glancing up at Louis only briefly.</p><p> </p><p>    “Now I have to have a reason to talk to you?” Louis rolls his eyes, turns up the light a little bit and grabs a couple of shirts in need of minor repair before taking the seat beside Pierre’s. “What if I help with the work?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Do what you want, mate.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You are angry.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m not angry.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, sure.” He laughs, though it’s not a very merry laugh. “Of course you are not. You always hit the bunk like you are boxing against it, you always storm off just so when you are not angry.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Haven’t I got a right to be? Getting thrown in the cooler for nothing, only got out so I could do bloody ‘camp beautification’ work for some project designed to give Klink an ego trip, and I’m hardly responsible for my country’s military policies, and--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Of course. I did not mean to-- I don’t agree, with the way your country runs things, I know it is not your fault. You are angry with Mills.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Got no quarrel with Mills.”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Pierre</em>…”</p><p> </p><p>    “No reason to.” He insists.</p><p> </p><p>    “Does he have one with you? Pierre, I won’t say a word to anyone.” Louis reaches out, taking his arm. “But it’s true?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice shakes, and Louis abandons the pretense of repairing shirts entirely, moving to throw his arms around Pierre. </p><p> </p><p>    “You have been here with me from the start. Even when you are an ass, you make this place… survivable. So if it’s true, nothing changes with me, mon meilleur.” He whispers, leaning their heads together. “But I have not made this place as much a home for you as you have done for me, if you cannot be honest with me. And I will not forgive myself, if I am less a friend to you are you are to me. I thought we had no secrets.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ll always have secrets… ‘s life.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not because you are afraid of what I will think. Not for that. Come on… With me, you are safe. Pierre… <em> have </em>you ever been in love?”</p><p> </p><p>    “What good’s it do me if I have, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know. Just that… you can tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>    Slowly, Pierre nods, and some of the tension drains away, slow. </p><p> </p><p>    “Once.” He says. “Just once.”</p><p>
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</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    Maybe he’s wrong. </p><p> </p><p>    Maybe he’s just… tired. Burned out. Stuck in a situation where preference doesn’t enter into things, a man could get to be tired. It’s not as if falling in love is an option, even with the right girl, not really. Not at present.</p><p> </p><p>    Still, there’s something that hits too close to home, in what he’d posited about Steiner. Other men <em> don’t </em> feel this emptiness, with a beautiful girl. Rob’s just never considered that there was something other than that hollow feeling. He does know when a girl’s a looker, he knows what he’s doing with one, it’s not as if he finds the prospect in any way off-putting… </p><p> </p><p>    Is there something more? Something he could feel more about, than what he’s felt? He’s good with women, he always thought that was all it was, but men talk about being <em> affected</em>, when he’s always been the one doing the affecting, and he doesn’t know. </p><p> </p><p>    Does he just need to kiss someone and mean it, does he just need to be serious, to allow himself to feel more? Maybe it’s not that there’s something different with him, maybe it’s just that he clings too tight to the idea of control, that he doesn’t allow himself the full experience. Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>    He heads outside hoping the air will cool his head. Seeing Hilda doing the same provides him the opportunity he hadn’t expected to put into action so soon. But she’s leaning against the wall, around the side of the kommandantur, enjoying a spot of surprisingly nice weather, and when she sees him she smiles, he approaches…</p><p> </p><p>    It’s a hell of a kiss. Objectively he knows it is. He knows what he’s doing right and he knows she’s doing everything right, too. He takes his time with it, he does everything in his power to just give himself over to the experience of it, the welcoming softness of her, how she feels in his arms, how it feels to be wanted. To be vulnerable to the kind of desire that bowls men over, when they have a beautiful girl to kiss. The things he knows he ought to feel, that just aren’t there.</p><p> </p><p>    “My, my, Colonel Hogan… you kiss like a man with ideas.” She sighs.</p><p> </p><p>    “I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.” He disentangles himself, gives her his most charming smile. “Fraternizing with the prisoners. I’ll see you later?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Certainly.”</p><p> </p><p>    He has no real desire to. He’s never thought about that, he’s never examined his lack of feeling. Would it be different, with a man? Would he <em> want</em>, more than he does? He doesn’t know how to think about men, where to begin. He’s comfortable with men, yes. More comfortable, in a general sense. Likes to be around men. Likes the sound of men’s voices, likes… likes to see them, but he’d never considered that it could be attraction. Why wouldn’t he enjoy watching other men playing sports? Why wouldn’t he admire a good physique? Why would he assume his enjoyment was anything other than natural, normal, the same joy he assumed every man took in the company of others? </p><p> </p><p>    Hilda waves as he peels off, he waves back, before turning to see the others-- Kinch and Carter tossing a ball back and forth, LeBeau and Newkirk standing by idly watching. He feels a sudden flood of guilt, meeting Newkirk’s eyes, as if he could guess at the path Rob’s thoughts were taking, He couldn’t possibly, and seeing him kiss Hilda would reassure any reasonable man on how normal he is. </p><p> </p><p>    <em> At best you get drummed out of service and maybe do a couple years in prison. Maybe you get time taken off the sentence if you let someone try and cure you. But you sure as hell don’t get off free and easy. I suppose the French army was full of nances</em>? That’s what he’d said, about men like Steiner and how they fared, even in the supposed safety of Allied London. </p><p> </p><p>    Men like Steiner… and men like Rob?</p><p> </p><p>    “Enjoying the afternoon’s recreation, mon Colonel?” LeBeau teases, as Rob approaches.</p><p> </p><p>    “For your information, I was gathering intel.”</p><p> </p><p>    Newkirk snorts, his focus back on Kinch and Carter. “Oh yeah? Learn anything good?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No.” He admits. “Not what I was hoping to.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Maybe It's Nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hogan struggles to keep himself in check as he processes his recent revelation, Newkirk struggles with how to talk to the people he knows he can trust, and everyone struggles with some new unreasonable demands from Klink-- and a visit no one is looking forward to.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-PETER  NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    It’s a rainy night when London sends them out on reconnaissance. After the relatively pleasant weather they’d been having, it’s an unpleasant turn, made moreso by the extra time it takes them to cover any tracks, making sure they don’t leave any bootprints in the mud.</p><p> </p><p>    It’s just three of them this time, he’s out with Louis and the Colonel, watching a convoy of trucks heading for a top secret factory. Radioing back to Carter, who’s telling Kinch what to radio back to the underground. </p><p> </p><p>    With the extra time it takes to cover their tracks, they’ve got to duck into a small cave, midway back. ‘Cave’ is a generous word for it, but it’s deep enough to keep the rain off for a minute, as long as the wind doesn’t shift much. </p><p> </p><p>    “By the time we get back, it’ll be roll call.” He groans.</p><p> </p><p>    “We won’t stop long.” Hogan assures them both. “We’ll be able to pick up speed once we hit thicker ground cover.”</p><p> </p><p>    The trees help as well, though not enough. But they’ll grow thicker as well, block some of the wind, some of the rain. In the meantime…</p><p> </p><p>    “You look like a drowned rat.” He tells Louis, tugging him in and chafing at his arm in hopes of warming him a little.</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, you’re not looking so put-together yourself.” He frowns, but he leans in, too.</p><p> </p><p>    It’s nice, in a way that’s too big to fully <em> think </em> about, that Louis is so easy with touch, knowing what he knows. It’s not that he didn’t think he meant it, when he said it wouldn’t change their friendship-- just that he’d thought meaning it wasn’t the same as it being <em> true</em>. But Louis presses close to him without a moment of hesitation. It’s not something he knows how to thank him for.</p><p> </p><p>    And then, there’s an arm around him, another body pressing close, and it’s <em> different</em>. Try as he might not to let himself go there, it’s different when it’s the Colonel. It’s <em> familiar</em>, because he’s like that with all of them, Peter doesn’t stiffen up or go to pieces, the level of touch was already becoming familiar by the time he’d realized his feelings were well into serious territory. He doesn’t react outwardly, even when his heart leaps.</p><p> </p><p>    All three of them are wet and cold, but it’s more pleasant being pressed tight between them than it would be shivering on his own. It’s only for a moment, but it’s a fortifying moment, and true to the Colonel’s word, soon enough they hit thicker woods, where they can move quicker and with more protection. Still, they’re soaked through and shivering when they tumble down into the tunnels in a less-than-well-coordinated heap. </p><p> </p><p>    “Hey, we were starting to worry.” Carter greets them, with an armful of thin towels.</p><p> </p><p>    “Weather slowed us down. Thanks, Carter.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Thanks, mate.” Peter echoes. </p><p> </p><p>    The three of them dry off hastily, change back into their uniforms and toss damp blacks into the hamper. Cups of coffee are pushed on them when they emerge from the tunnels and back into the barracks, moving into the Colonel’s quarters to avoid disturbing the men of barracks two who’ve actually managed to get themselves some sleep, and Peter catches the man himself watching him, with a sort of idle amusement.</p><p> </p><p>    “What? Got something on my face?”</p><p> </p><p>    “As a matter of fact…” He leans forward, swiping at Peter’s cheek with the towel he’d kept with him. “Wouldn’t want to leave black streaks on your pillowcase.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Better or worse than Max Factor sixty, do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I think you’d get in trouble for either one.” He chuckles, taking it upon himself to wipe away whatever’s left. “Though depending on whose Max Factor sixty gets smeared on your pillowcases, it might be worth the trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>    And so Peter laughs, along with the rest of the men, because there’s no benefit to saying the shade was his own, any time he’d taken the stage. One thing to have his skills applying makeup appreciated when disguises must be undertaken, another to remind people without theatre backgrounds of their own that he’s comfortable wearing it. Hell, even if one of the Americans or Europeans had done theatre, he would have them believe he’d never dressed as a little old lady before someone had to for the war effort and all. Something about the Christmas Panto just doesn’t seem to translate, there’s no telling some people that men dressed as old ladies is considered wholesome family fun in certain parts. Let the lads think he just happened to be a natural his first time out.</p><p> </p><p>    “London will get back to us about what comes next.” Kinch clears his throat. “They might send a couple of bombers, ask us to mark the place.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Or we could blow it ourselves.” Andrew says, eager as you like. </p><p> </p><p>    “Don’t get your hopes up.” Kinch pats his shoulder. “But it wouldn’t hurt to prepare, either.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Kinch is right-- on the off chance London asks us to blow the factory ourselves, tomorrow I want you checking on our supply. I want to know what we have, and I want to know what you need.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes, Sir!” He salutes and everything, like an oversized puppy, loyal and eager to please. </p><p> </p><p>    Then again, men in glass houses… when it comes to Colonel Hogan, ‘loyal’ and ‘eager to please’ are the least incriminating things Peter could say about himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    After coffee and the very little bit of debrief necessary, they don’t get much time to sleep before roll call, but Rob still rolls out of bed feeling ready to face the day. It’ll pass, he knows, he’ll flag around midday and need a rest and so will LeBeau and Newkirk, but he’s bright-eyed enough not to rouse suspicion. And Newkirk’s never a morning person no matter how much sleep he gets, so his moaning and groaning don’t raise any eyebrows, either. </p><p> </p><p>    Schultz seems to view him like a child who doesn’t want to get up for school, most mornings-- he huffs and he puffs and he rolls his eyes and he complains about the trouble they’ll both be in, but there’s an undercurrent of fondness beneath the exasperation.</p><p> </p><p>    “I can’t help if I’m a night owl, Schultzie, I’m used to working nights.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You ought to be used to the way the camp is run, by now. <em> Please</em>, Newkirk, for <em> once</em>, I am asking you, could your barracks not be the very last to be ready for roll call? You are the first ones I wake up and you are the last one to line up!”</p><p> </p><p>    “You can’t expect so much from him, Schultz, he’s English.” LeBeau yawns.</p><p> </p><p>    “Didn’t realize the French were masters of punctuality.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Just <em> don’t </em> make me come and wake you a second time.” Schultz pleads, before moving on to wake the next barracks. </p><p> </p><p>    They fall in like always, even those who’ve had very little sleep, every man in his customary place. </p><p> </p><p>    This could be it, of course. The reason why he takes a special comfort in Newkirk’s presence at his side could be born entirely of familiarity. That’s who he has at his elbow at every roll call, that’s who huddles closer when it’s cold out, that’s who exchanges sidelong looks with him when Klink is giving a more than ordinarily ridiculous speech, that’s who…</p><p> </p><p>    But that isn’t it, is it?</p><p> </p><p>    The time’s past where he could pretend that was it. He knows better now. The immunity he’s always held towards feminine charms doesn’t extend to Newkirk-- he finds his smiles infectious, gladly falls into listening when he spins a story, takes a certain pleasure he never used to question in watching his hands…</p><p> </p><p>    They’re very clever hands, but that’s hardly an excuse. He doesn’t enjoy watching them because he’s thinking of them as nothing more than a well-oiled machine working to a pleasing purpose, the enjoyment is aesthetic. </p><p> </p><p>    The problem with this sudden self-examination, self-awareness, is that there’s nothing he can <em> do </em> about it. He can’t pull back, without giving Newkirk the impression that he’s upset with him for some reason, which leaves him with teasing himself with things that will always be too much and not nearly enough. Tantalus, reaching out for what he can’t ever taste. And he has to pretend everything is as it’s always been.</p><p> </p><p>    Which he supposes it is, he just never… considered himself deeply enough to understand, before. He never thought of desire as something that could eat at him. </p><p> </p><p>    And it is Newkirk-- he likes touching people, he finds comfort in it, that part isn’t only Newkirk. He finds a certain solace in being able to sink into touch, that wordless communion between two people who are close enough to find a companionable touch welcome, the sense of trust it builds, the way it feeds some hungry part of him, especially in this place, where even with the extent of their operations and the things they manage to get their hands on, comforts are few. He’s comfortable with physical closeness, in general. Touching Newkirk is different, from touching anyone else. Simultaneously both more and less satisfying, <em> charged </em> in ways he was blind to so long, he didn’t have the words and he didn’t seek them out. </p><p> </p><p>    It’s useless to think too much about what he could want. Nothing can change, he has a responsibility to the man, he has his trust and if he betrays that, what good is he? Hasn’t he been happy enough, not knowing? Couldn’t he remain happy with what he has? He doesn’t really have a choice.</p><p> </p><p>    Klink’s got a speech this morning, all right. He can practically feel Newkirk roll his eyes over the reminder of Klink’s ‘generosity’ in releasing the escapees from the cooler after such a brief punishment, and he hammers in the point that they’re on work detail. Demands a few extra volunteers while he’s at it, which means he’s not just making busywork to punish the four men on the escape team, he’s worried about sprucing the place up because someone’s coming.</p><p> </p><p>    “Hang on, aside from the four receiving their punishment, my men don’t have to ‘volunteer’ for anything.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Hogan--”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, no, we’re not here to do grunt work, you make your own guys do it if it’s that important. Not a single prisoner in this camp is going to volunteer. Unless, of course…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, I hate when he says ‘unless’...” Klink groans, but he beckons him forward. “All right, what is it? You make your little demands as if extra hot water and electricity grow on trees! Might I remind you who is running this camp?”</p><p> </p><p>    “And who would that be?” He smiles, getting the usual scowl and shake of the fist in return. </p><p> </p><p>    “Look here, Hogan, I want this camp whipped into shape by Thursday. I want things spic and span and orderly. I am expecting a visitor, if you must know.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Anyone I know?”</p><p> </p><p>    “This doesn’t concern you. Six more men and I will… see about extending hot water through Thursday.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Through the end of the week.”</p><p> </p><p>    “The men are only doing extra work through Thursday.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Do you want my help or not, Kommandant?”</p><p> </p><p>    “With help like yours…” Klink shakes his head, but his shoulders slump that telltale little bit. “Very well, through the rest of the week, <em> provided </em> the work is satisfactory. I will be hosting some men from the Gestapo, <em> if </em> you must know, and I want things to go smoothly, so if your men do anything to besmirch the sterling record of Stalag Thirteen during this time, not only will all hot water privileges cease, I am prepared to make the cooler a very crowded place. Do we understand each other?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Perfectly.”</p><p>
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</p><p>-LOUIS LEBEAU-</p><p> </p><p>    “Gestapo, huh?” Kinch settles into the seat next to the Colonel. </p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, and we’re going to figure out what they want with Klink.”</p><p> </p><p>    “If they want anything from Klink.” Pierre shrugs, from where he’s leaned against his bunk. “Could be something else in the area. Like that factory…”</p><p> </p><p>    Louis frowns at that. Dangerous enough taking whatever next step London asks of them, without the Gestapo crawling around. Too much to hope they could take out two birds with one stone-- not without raising further suspicions, which they can’t afford. Not unless the men were in the factory when… well, when whatever needs to happen happens. Collateral damage is one thing, but a few slit throats in the woods, no… that might actually get people believing Hochstetter.</p><p> </p><p>    Probably it <em> is </em> Hochstetter, it usually seems to be, which means being very careful. They’ll probably have to pull a few microphones from the guest quarters, leave it to him to check. Leave it to any of them, they’re all sneaky and suspicious enough, even the ones who don’t suspect the prisoners.</p><p> </p><p>    “So what are we going to do about it?” He asks, setting the first plate down in front of the Colonel. </p><p> </p><p>    The table fills out, once the first plate is down. It always does. Breakfast might not be much, by his own exacting standards, but it’s better than what the general mess serves. Even on a morning after an exhausting night, he’d rather cook than not cook, it helps his mood. The action, the results, and the thanks and praise from the rest of the barracks-- well, anyone who knows the first thing about food, at any rate. But what can you expect from the English? They <em> boil </em> things.</p><p> </p><p>    “We’re playing things by ear for now. We’ll have to let London know there may be some snags, but until we know more… we’ll see what we can learn while we’re on work detail. Carter and I will take Klink’s office-- LeBeau, while we put ourselves with the volunteers, you butter up Schultz. See what he knows.”</p><p> </p><p>    “If he knows anything, he’ll tell me, Mon Colonel.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Good.” Hogan nods. </p><p> </p><p>    “My mom always said, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And boy has Schultz got a stomach.” Carter laughs. </p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, good thing for us he does.” Kinch laughs along with him. There’s always something soft about the way Kinch laughs-- there’s always a certain steady softness to Kinch in general. </p><p> </p><p>    When it was only the three of them, in the beginning, with precious few friendly faces even among their fellow prisoners, they needed that. Now, with the whole operation, there’s even more he’s needed for, and so many more people who need those things of him, but when Louis thinks about why Kinch is such a vital part of things in Stalag 13, he doesn’t think about his skill for sitting patiently with the radio waiting for news without pacing a rut in the floor or tearing his hair out, he doesn’t think about his brilliance with the engineering, or his quick mastery of languages. He thinks about how he knows when to break up a fight and when to let it run its course with no hard feelings in the end, how he surprises you with a joke when you most need it, how he knows who needs to be invited to play a game of catch or cards… How he knows <em> people</em>, just as surely as he knows radio equipment and colloquial German.</p><p> </p><p>    They all look out for each other, in their own ways. But the command team especially… they provide each other with a family, far from home as they are. And before Carter, before the Colonel, Kinch made himself into the responsible big brother, who could manage Louis and Pierre and all their rough edges.</p><p> </p><p>    As for Schultz… bribing him into letting a few things slip would be easy enough.</p><p> </p><p>    He gets the rest of the barracks fed, and settles in with his own plate, squeezing in next to Pierre.</p><p> </p><p>    “Breakfast’s not bad.” Pierre offers this faint praise, which is still more complimentary than he usually is… Still.</p><p> </p><p>    “Not bad, he says.” Louis rolls his eyes. “This, from a man who eats beans on toast!”</p><p> </p><p>    “Show of hands, who’d rather eat beans on toast than snails?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Next time, I won’t make you any.” He says, but it’s an empty threat and they both know it. </p><p> </p><p>    Pierre nudges him and gives him a smile, and he can feel his scowl weaken just a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>    “And thanks, for the cuppa.” He adds, in much quieter tones than his teasing. Louis just nudges him back.</p><p> </p><p>    Volunteer slots are filled over breakfast, with no trouble. Conversation jumps around, but never quite seems to settle, as everyone’s thoughts turn to the coming visitors.</p><p> </p><p>    Or, most everyone’s.</p><p> </p><p>    “What?” Pierre wipes at his mouth. “Don’t tell me I’ve still got something.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Hm? No-- oh, no.” Colonel Hogan shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking. Different problem-- nothing worth worrying about.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Most problems are worth worrying about.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well… let’s start with the problems we can do something about.”</p><p>
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</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    He had been tempted, of course, to put himself on the same work detail as Newkirk, but he’d known it was a dangerous idea even before he’d been caught idly staring with no good excuse, he’d made the right call over the call he’d wanted to make. Still…</p><p> </p><p>    He needs to be able to work with the man without getting distracted. He can, he’s done it before, and he will once he’s had a little time to come to grips with what these feelings all mean. He’d managed, too, when they’d had to go out on reconnaissance. Yes, maybe now there’s a new awareness that colors their interactions, when he reaches out, but he hadn’t touched him any more than he’d have touched anyone.</p><p> </p><p>    All right, a little bit, with the towel, but the intimacy in it wasn’t <em> sexual</em>, there are lines he hasn’t crossed and won’t cross. </p><p> </p><p>    So, a little distance today, while he gets himself under control. </p><p> </p><p>    What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say, over breakfast? ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, I was just noticing the way you drink your tea and realizing that you hold a telephone the same way sometimes, pinky out, and I think it’s cute, I think everything about you is cute’? </p><p> </p><p>    The distance isn’t comfortable, he’s too aware of too much now, but it’s not out of the ordinary for them to be working on different things, apart for a while. There’s nothing about the situation that ought to strike anyone as odd. He’ll get a hold of himself and things will go back to normal. He’ll get over this.</p><p> </p><p>    Well… he’ll learn to live with it.</p><p> </p><p>    In the meantime, he and Carter get what they’re after, cleaning up Klink’s office. Hochstetter’s heading their way again, and he’s in a hell of a mood, too. </p><p> </p><p>    If he had to guess, he’d say it might have something to do with a recently-murdered scientist. And if he doesn’t know the man was planning to defect, and doesn’t know about the affair, then he’ll be accusing Rob of killing Steiner. He’s not sure whether or not he finds that funny, but at least for once he can honestly say he has nothing to do with Hochstetter’s latest problem.</p><p>
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</p><p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    The non-volunteers had gotten straight to work-- and no choice of easy assignments for the lazy man, either. Klink’s got the four of them digging, under heavy supervision.</p><p> </p><p>    Well, the supervision isn’t heavy, just the guard. And he’s soft enough to give them a minute, when Mueller comes around with the mail. Olsen’s got a couple letters from home, Fletcher and Walker both get sappy smiles over love notes from their sweethearts, and he’s got a picture postcard from Mavis. Just a street scene, and nicer streets than the ones he spent most of his time on, but still it’s home, it’s comforting. The promise of a package soon, though she says mostly she wanted to send him a picture he could tack up.</p><p> </p><p>    “My Mandy.” Fletcher passes around a photograph-- a group of nurses, a couple of them with young men on their arms and a couple unattached, one with a lipstick print over her. “And the one with the mechanic on her arm’s my sister.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, be careful who you show that sister to.” Peter nudges him. </p><p> </p><p>    “She’s married.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Is she Catholic?”</p><p> </p><p>    “... No.” Fletcher’s brow furrows, bemused.</p><p> </p><p>    “Then she can always trade up, mate.”</p><p> </p><p>    Fletcher laughs and nudges back. “What about you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Postcard from my sister-- who did <em> not </em> send any pictures.”</p><p> </p><p>    “If you think I’m showing any of you guys a picture of my sister, you’re dreaming.” Olsen chimes in. “What about you, Walker, how many unmarried sisters have you got?”</p><p> </p><p>    “None.” He snorts, but he shows off the picture he’d been sent-- like Fletcher’s, a group shot, a picnic rather than a military base. Front and center, a girl with a glowing smile, white dress and dark skin. To one side, two slightly older women, looking to be a blonde and a brunette, one with a boy half in her lap. To the other side, a young man, handsome. Dark hair and dark eyes, sprawled out a bit. Long-limbed and in good shape. “Most of my sweetheart’s prettier friends are already married, but if you ever find yourself north of the border after the war, there are still a couple nice girls I could set you up with.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Which one is your gal?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh-- uh, the one-- that is, my, uh, my-- mine’s the one with the, with the--”</p><p> </p><p>    Schultz breaks up the jostling and laughing and sends them back to their shovels before Walker can finish an answer to the question. Rather than finish it once they’ve started back up, he gets Fletcher going on a working song, and Fletcher’s a big man with a big voice, so he gets the rest of them going.</p><p> </p><p>    It does not escape Peter’s notice, when they’re next allowed a break, that the moment everyone’s had a drink of water, Walker is quick to get Olsen telling some story, then challenging Peter to top it. He could guess, then, that Walker’s lady isn’t the most accepted choice.</p><p> </p><p>    Or… that Walker’s lady <em> isn’t</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    He could kick himself for not thinking of it sooner, but it’s as they’re confined to barracks once more that he sees him lying in his bunk, photograph in hand, thumb gently stroking over one corner. The handsome, dark-eyed man. </p><p> </p><p>    They have the same type after all, or near enough to it. Of course, he’s got no idea how to correct himself now… but it’s nice to know there’s someone else who knows how it feels, carrying a secret love. Louis can promise all he likes that Peter can talk to him honestly, but there’s too much he couldn’t understand, no matter how hard he tries.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bug Going Round</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The guys prepare for a visit... which means yanking some of the microphones, and preparing to rely more heavily on others. </p><p>It also means a lot of other work and more than a little worry.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    Peter falls asleep against his shovel, and wakes up with everyone bent over him. Olsen, Walker, and Fletcher know he’s running on fumes, but to Schultz it must look like he’s passed out. Still, he’s not complaining if it gets him out of digging. </p><p> </p><p>    Schultz escorts him back to the barracks, where Louis waylays their favorite guard with a taste of something, and the promise that, should he be allowed to use a real kitchen, there might be some fussy French pastry in it for him. There’s some back and forth about it before Schultz remembers he left three prisoners with shovels unattended, and he hurries off, at which point Louis appears next to Peter’s bunk to pass him up a mug. Tea.</p><p> </p><p>    Weak tea, it always is in camp, but tea nonetheless. </p><p> </p><p>    “Thanks, mate.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You collapsed?” </p><p> </p><p>    “Ah.” He winces. Well… sweet of him to worry, and worry enough to make the best cup of tea possible when you’re stuck reusing your teabags. “Fell asleep on my feet.”</p><p> </p><p>    Louis nods, with a half-voiced little laugh and an understanding look. He’d been out in the cold all night, too, and he hadn’t been pressed right into manual labor, outside of puttering around the stove. He’s had the chance between breakfast and lunch to have a bit of shut-eye. But still, he gets it. </p><p> </p><p>    Peter’s just drained his tea and laid himself down when Kinch comes in.</p><p> </p><p>    “Olsen told me I’d find Newkirk here after he collapsed?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Olsen is being dramatic.” Louis says, dragging Kinch over to the table and putting a mug in front of him as well. “He fell asleep.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Can’t blame him.”</p><p> </p><p>    He’s out like a light with that, though he couldn’t say how long he’s slept when the sound of his name wakes him.</p><p> </p><p>    “He’s all right, Carter, I worried you for nothing. He fell asleep on his feet, that’s all.” Kinch is saying, as Peter blinks away sleep and rolls over to see one very worried Andrew Carter.</p><p> </p><p>    “Fit as a fiddle.” He yawns, sliding out of his bunk and onto a bench, where he can lean back against the table. “No need to fret.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s just, well see, after Kinch let us know about it, I mean--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Really, it’s nothing serious. Dropped like a sack of potatoes, but I didn’t hit my head or anything.”</p><p> </p><p>    “The Colonel’s reading Klink the riot act, is all.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Andrew, the Colonel knows I didn’t get but two minutes’ sleep last night, he’s working the angle.” Peter scoffs, but he feels warm all the same, and suddenly unsteady. He doesn’t get to feeling any steadier, by the time the door swings open and the Colonel comes striding in like he’s homed in on him.</p><p> </p><p>    “Kinch told us you collapsed.” He says, and it does not sound like he’s been working an angle. Not only. There’s real worry in his eyes, tension in the hand that clasps Peter’s shoulder, warm and heavy and oddly urgent, just there at the junction of shoulder-to-neck. </p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, he just fell asleep, he’s not hurt.” Carter says, oh-so-helpfully. It isn’t fair, Peter knows, the flash of irritation he feels, which he hadn’t felt towards Louis or Kinch when they’d done the same, but he also hadn’t felt the same flare of embarrassment. A bit, yes, but not quite so hot.</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, even an Englishman couldn’t get heatstroke in weather like this.” Louis adds.</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure?” Hogan squeezes his shoulder, something his aching muscles would appreciate a bit more of. Not that the rest of him could ask.</p><p> </p><p>    “Right as rain, gov.” He manages a careless kind of smile-- surface-careless, at any rate. It takes enough care to project the attitude-- and his hand moves to Hogan’s forearm. “Lads would’ve had Wilson in to look me over by now if I wasn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Good.” The hand remains on his shoulder, and so he leaves his where it rests as well. “Well, you’re off of landscaping duty, either way. You’ve got the rest of today to rest and then tomorrow I’ve got you on housekeeping detail.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Want me to set up something special for our guests?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, you know, the usual. Pull the bugs, practice run on the safe, mints on the pillows.” Hogan grins, and it’s that particular lopsided and boyish variety that makes a man fall in love all over again. Well, makes one man in particular fall in love, leastaways. </p><p> </p><p>    “Right. Standards of the hospitality business.” He nods, returning it. His thumb slides over the back of Hogan’s wrist. “I’m all yours.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Go ahead and catch up on rest for now, while we’ve got the chance. We can go over particulars later. The other three get a break from the landscaping work tomorrow, too-- who do you want with you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Walker. Want to check in with him on something.”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan pats his shoulder, a quick little one-two before his hand falls away. “Sure thing.”</p><p> </p><p>    Peter turns to watch him, as he disappears into his quarters, only turning his attention from the closed door when he feels a kick at his foot. Louis is staring at him, hard, and he has a sinking feeling he knows what that look means. </p><p> </p><p>    “I’m going back to bed.” He says, before Louis can get a word in. Doesn’t stop the little bugger from following, pulling himself up to dangle from the end of Peter’s bunk. “Unless you’re here to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight, that means I’m not open to conversation.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Que dois-je penser, quand tu le regardes comme ça? ” He hisses, and Peter supposes he doesn’t need to understand to understand.</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Goodnight</em>, Louis.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What if I kiss you goodnight?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’re not my type.”</p><p> </p><p>    “C’est si vrai.” He snorts, dropping down to the floor again. “I know your type. But, I have better legs.”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Goodnight</em>.”</p><p>
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</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    He’s not upset. He might have to repeat it to himself a couple of times before he quite believes it, but he’s not. There’s nothing to be upset about.</p><p> </p><p>    He <em> was </em> upset, and not unreasonably so, when he heard Peter had collapsed, that’s normal. He’d have been upset if any of the men whose welfare he’s meant to safeguard had done the same. He’d have made the same furious complaint about overwork, and unjust punishment. And he’d have worried!</p><p> </p><p>    Maybe it wouldn’t have felt like a fist grabbing hold of his heart and squeezing down hard, like a ball of ice dropped into his gut, but he would have been upset.</p><p> </p><p>    <em> Peter</em>… when did he start thinking of him as Peter, first? This attempt at distance isn’t working, if he’s calling him ‘Peter’ now.</p><p> </p><p>    But couldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he? They’ve known each other long enough, trusted each other with enough. It wouldn’t be so strange and it certainly wouldn’t be unreasonable, to call him by his first name every once in a while. Like when he’d worried. </p><p> </p><p>    When did he fall like this? It happened without his recognizing it, and now he knows its name and the more he chews it over the less he can deny it. This is it, the kind of love he’d just assumed it wasn’t in him to feel, and the longer he’s aware of it the more he wonders how he ever could have missed it, why he never even asked if that’s what this feeling was. It’s not as if he didn’t know that there were men who fooled around-- it’s just that he’d understood it to be a matter of necessity rather than preference, it never occurred to him that <em> desire </em> was an option, that these feelings were… </p><p> </p><p>    In a POW camp, there were no doubt other men who were looking for something, who made or sought arrangements… could he? He fears it’s not for him-- even the men who aren’t in on the game know he could have Hilda, even if they don’t know he could slip out and steal time with any other woman in a reasonable distance. Besides… he’s the ranking officer, it changes things. </p><p> </p><p>    And even if he could, even if it was better, it still wouldn’t be Peter. He can’t pretend that wouldn’t matter to him. </p><p> </p><p>    He flops out on his rarely-used lower bunk and gives in. Thinks about how it would have felt to draw him closer. Not to lean down, to kiss him, only… only to hold onto him a while, to stand there with their knees bumping together and to coax Peter’s head to rest over his heart. Just a little while. To knead at his shoulders, play through his soft, dark hair… To really feel all these little things <em> mean </em> something to him.</p><p> </p><p>    He knows it’s not what he gets, he knows too much daydreaming is only going to get him in trouble… but he’s captured by the idea of feeling something meaningful.</p><p>
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</p><p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    The first thing he does is show Walker where they tend to hide the bugs, in the guest quarters.</p><p> </p><p>    “Wish we didn’t have to yank these, but there’s always a risk of Gestapo men searching for ‘em.” He says, unscrewing a microphone from one of the bedside lamps. “And when it’s Hochstetter, well… you saw him when he came through last. Now he doesn’t <em> know </em> a blessed thing, but he’s the only one who really <em> suspects</em>, which makes him dangerous. He’d love to catch us with anything like this.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Hampers us not to be able to eavesdrop, doesn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “There’s always Klink’s office. But if he’s got someone with him and they conference in here, we’re better safe than sorry, even if it means not getting all the info.”</p><p> </p><p>    “No arguments there.” He sighs, dropping down to sit on the couch. “It’s hard to balance, isn’t it? Caution, and the risks you need to be able to take.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah.” Peter nods, moving to sit next to him. “Thinking about the risks, and what you could get for ‘em… what you’d pay if it went wrong. I, ah… I didn’t understand what you meant, before. You and I having the same type. And for a minute I thought maybe-- But… we’re alike enough, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>    “His name’s Danny.” Walker nods, with a little smile. </p><p> </p><p>    “He’s handsome.”</p><p> </p><p>    Walker ducks his head, his cheeks glowing pink. “He is. He works for the city… they wouldn’t let him join up if he’d tried. But I’m glad he’s home, safe. And… he can tell me how things are. He’s got his family to look after, with one brother in the army. And he looks in on mine for me. They think he’s a friend from the neighborhood… he goes by the store once a week, and… I mean my family writes, but… I feel better knowing he’s around, if anything was to happen.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What’s he like?”</p><p> </p><p>    “He likes taking care of people. He doesn’t seem the responsible type, <em> at all</em>, but he can be. Maybe a little too clever for his own good, and a little wild, but… but he looks out for his brothers and sister, and he’s the kind of friend who you can trust to be there. And… I don’t know. I just like being the guy who takes care of the guy who takes care of everyone.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Bloody hell, we really do have the same type.” Peter laughs.</p><p> </p><p>    “You do have somebody?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not back home. I mean, I don’t <em> have </em> him. He doesn’t know, can’t know. But your Danny sounds a fair bit like him. Too clever and too free, and too ready to do about anything for anyone close to him. And even if he never knows… I’d rather be the guy who takes care of the guy who takes care of everyone, and have it be secret, than not be beside him.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Someone from your old unit, or someone I know? Well-- you don’t have to say. He sounds nice.”</p><p> </p><p>    “He’s… I can’t begin to say it.” </p><p> </p><p>    “I’m just… It feels like… <em> breathing</em>, to say it. Fletch and I, sometimes we read out bits of letters to each other, and I have to pretend it’s a girl writing. He’s perfectly swell, I like being able to talk about things, just… there’s a whole part of myself to keep secret. From him, from everybody. You know?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Yeah, reckon so. I… LeBeau knows, about me. Figured it out after I stormed out, talking-- knows me too well to think it was Steiner I was disgusted with. Known me a long time. He’s… he doesn’t care. Better than I could ask for. But it’s not the same. If I told him what I like about a man, he wouldn’t understand it. Not…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not all those little things, that make a man.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah.” Peter’s voice goes quiet. All those little things that make a man, what a way to put it. But how else to describe the motley assortment of features that grab him-- not just all those things about Colonel Hogan, but all the things he’s ever noticed about men he’s fancied, however seriously or unseriously. All the ways they’re different from women he’s flirted with, women he’s cared for but not… not the same way. </p><p> </p><p>    “Danny’s taller than me. I like that. I think I could beat him at arm wrestling… but I like that he’s tall. With big hands.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Bloke I used to know, we were in the theatre together for a bit… wasn’t anything serious between us, but I liked that about him, too. He’d rest his arm across my shoulders, casual… Cozy-like. I liked being reached for, instead of having to chase.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t mind chasing… but I like a man who’ll reach back for me when I catch him.” Walker shrugs, with the slyest smile Peter’s ever seen on him. </p><p> </p><p>    “A man’s not afraid to tease you. Even if he doesn’t mean anything by it… it feels nice. Being noticed… even if he doesn’t mean anything by it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Being looked at. There’s so many little things I miss, being away. I mean… I can look all I want, and I know he wouldn’t blame me for looking, all the men in uniform.” He ducks his head again, a little self-conscious laugh, as if he can’t quite decide whether to revel in the freedom of being able to talk like this, or be shy of it. “And I don’t mind looking at some of them. But I miss how a man looks in the right suit. I miss… walking out into the woods with a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine and an old blanket, and just not stopping until we felt alone. Just walking… and he’d hold branches out of my way. That’s the first thing I want to do when I’m home, take Danny and hide away somewhere green. Tell him all the stories I can’t write home with.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sounds really lovely.” Peter agrees, though the picture in his mind is of the woods near camp, and it’s not so much a pleasant picnic he imagines as a midnight mission, slipping through the trees after Hogan. Watching the grace he moves with by however much moonlight they have. </p><p> </p><p>    They drift back to working, neither particularly motivated to work very hard when they could draw the task out instead. Maybe wring a second day out of an easy job...</p><p>
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</p><p>-JAMES KINCHLOE-</p><p> </p><p>    “You ready for tomorrow?” Kinch asks, when Wednesday rolls around and Colonel Hogan doesn’t seem any more settled. </p><p> </p><p>    “Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You tell me.” He shrugs, and waits. Since before Steiner, he’s been off, but it’s only gotten worse since they got the bad news. No… it’s gotten worse since they got their guys out of the cooler. Which, to be fair, had meant revisiting the failure of the Steiner job. But it wasn’t Hogan who’d failed. No one would have accused him of it.</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s complicated. And it’s-- It’s not mission important.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No. It’s personal. I’m dealing with it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure thing, Colonel. But you know… you can bring anything to me.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not this.” Hogan folds his arms, turning away-- not turning his back on Kinch, just turning to face the wall, so that he’s seeing him in profile, seeing the distant look in his eyes, the tight frown. Seeing something that seems so opposite to the man he knows. “Anything else and I would, believe me. But this…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Something you have to face on your own?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Something like that.”</p><p> </p><p>    He sighs, nodding. It’s not like he’s going to drag it out of him, neither of them would be comfortable with that. And it’s not that he doesn’t trust him to tell him anything truly important, mission or otherwise. If it was something he could help with, or something Hogan needed help with, he’d say <em> something</em>. That’s the kind of man he is-- he’s not ashamed to bring a problem to a friend, or to ask for help, even just a sounding board. It’s not just that he would never let his pride get in the way of a successful op, it’s that he’s comfortable turning to the people around him. It’s not like him to be this reticent-- sure, sometimes he needs to chew over an idea alone before he’s ready to run it past everyone, but he’s never so quiet so long when something’s clearly eating at him. </p><p> </p><p>    Hogan paces his quarters like a caged tiger a while-- and if he was a tiger, his tail would be lashing-- but he doesn’t dismiss Kinch, much less request privacy. Several moments pass where he thinks he might break the silence, only to resume his pacing. </p><p> </p><p>    Finally, he comes to a halt and turns, arms still folded tight.</p><p> </p><p>    “All right. It’s the Steiner thing.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Well I figured as much. We don’t lose too often. This was one hell of a blow.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not that. The Steiner and Ehrlich thing.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Really? You didn’t seem thrown by it.”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan glances away again, heaves in a deep breath. “I knew a guy, from before the war. Or… A guy I thought I knew, anyway. Moderately good-looking, charming enough, the kind of guy who didn’t have any trouble with women, but… I don’t know. I never even wondered, growing up. Now I’m figuring out he’s been keeping the same secret Steiner has.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Does that bother you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know. Should it?”</p><p> </p><p>    Kinch steps forward, resting a hand at Hogan’s elbow. “Permission to speak frankly?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Since when do you ask permission?” He cracks a grin. A weak one, but it’s a good sign.</p><p> </p><p>    “You don’t seem like the kind of man who’s normally bothered by the way another man lives his life. We’ve all got bigger things to worry about now, maybe that’s a part of it, but…”</p><p> </p><p>    “What would you think? If a man you knew, trusted… if he had that kind of secret?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I think… I’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He shrugs. Not to brush it off, but because he doesn’t want to leave a friend waiting on a better answer while he thinks it over, not when he looks so agonized. Funny, he’d been so quick to defend the late Dr. Steiner, to be so torn up over the idea of an old friend being the same way. But then, it’s fair to be uncomfortable wondering if a trusted friend had been hiding feelings for you, and not having such complicated emotions about a stranger you’d promised to help…</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure.” Hogan drifts to his desk, taking a seat, leans forward on his elbows. </p><p> </p><p>    “I think there’s an old me who would be… defensive.” Kinch comes to lean against the other side of the desk. “Be suspicious of his intentions, even if he never gave me any reason to be. Be… hung up, on not understanding. Hell, I don’t understand now, but… I’ve got enemies. I’ve never gone out of my way to make ‘em, but I’ve <em>always</em> had ‘em. In a war, at least I’ve got a better idea of who they are, and I’ve got people I trust to have my back. And I don’t know, I don’t know. But where I am now, I’m not interested in hating a man who hasn’t given me reason to, I mean a real reason. I’ve been that man. Can’t recommend it. That help any?”</p><p> </p><p>    “More than you know. Kinch… thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>    There’s a gravity in the look Hogan gives him, and he’s not willing to guess at what it means. Guessing wrong carries a penalty either way.</p><p> </p><p>    “Anytime.” He nods. That much is true, whatever else is.</p><p>
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</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    Hochstetter rolls into camp early on Thursday, while the prisoners are confined to barracks-- it’s not a formal order, exactly, more a desperate suggestion. A fervent and frightened glint in his monocle which begged the men to, just this once, maybe not make Stalag 13 look like a badly-run three ring circus when the Gestapo arrived.</p><p> </p><p>    Hard to refuse the poor guy, really.</p><p> </p><p>    “KLINK!” Hochstetter roars, voice coming through loud and clear over the coffeepot. Mostly loud.</p><p> </p><p>    “What can I do for you, Major?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Where is that man?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Which man would that be?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Colonel Hogan, the man who is always coming and going from your office as if he owns the place, who else?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well I assure you, Major, Colonel Hogan does <em> not </em> own the place. The prisoners are in their barracks, so as not to disturb you.” Klink says, and Rob can just picture him, the bowing and scraping and the pinched, pained smile as he tries to play the happy host… </p><p> </p><p>    “I want that man brought to me. I want to know everything he knows about Doctor Theobold Steiner!”</p><p> </p><p>    “Major Hochstetter, please-- I can’t imagine Colonel Hogan knows <em> anything </em> about Doctor Steiner! Why, when you traveled through here with the doctor, I don’t think he spoke two words to the man.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I demand you have him brought to me for questioning, I know this man is involved! You can let him make a mockery of you all you want, Klink, but he won’t make a monkey out of me!”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sounds like my cue.” Rob rises. He can give Hochstetter a little bit of a hard time, it doesn’t take much to get that vein throbbing in his forehead and his mustache quivering in indignation… and then he can admit to having nothing at all to do with Steiner’s death. If he can salvage nothing else from this situation, he can still enjoy getting Hochstetter all twitchy and foaming at the mouth with impotent rage.</p><p> </p><p>    He’s two steps to the door when a hand at his shoulder-- one attached to an arm across his chest-- halts him.</p><p>
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</p><p>-PETER NEWKIRK-</p><p> </p><p>    “Make it a double act?” Peter suggests, trying not to let his fear show through. </p><p> </p><p>    “No.” Hogan takes his wrist, the point of contact softening the sharpness of the answer. “Better if I go in alone.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Begging your pardon, gov, but this isn’t your average idiot we’re talking about, this is a man who suspects something. You can’t walk in the minute he’s asked after you, like it’s all some grand coincidence. You drag me in on our own business and we get into the patter a bit and we could sell an excuse for needing Klink. At least wait for Schultz to come and fetch you before you go waltzing in.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’ve had enough heat lately-- and yes, Hochstetter’s here to put the heat on all of us, but this time we’ve got a secret weapon-- for once, we’re innocent.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I know you want to bait him, but he’s fixing to bite you, and I’ll go legit before I let you walk into that without help.”</p><p> </p><p>    Hogan doesn’t understand, not really-- how could he? And if Peter had wanted him to, he’d have been plainer. Still, his other hand comes to rest on Peter’s side, he shifts to face him and bends his head near.</p><p> </p><p>    “You, go legit? I’d be <em> lost</em>.” He says, with that smile, the smile that’s weakened a thousand knees. Maybe more. And no, he doesn’t understand what Peter’s saying, really, but even so, it’s the kind of response that cuts straight to a man’s heart. “Relax, I can handle Hochstetter.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ve just got a feeling about this one, that’s all. And if Hochstetter ever really gets his hands on you, won’t be a show… just a blindfold if he’s feeling generous.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I know what you mean about that feeling.” Hogan nods. “Peter--”</p><p> </p><p>    Before he can say any more, the door swings open, nearly unbalances the two of them, and Schultz stares a moment at the clinch he’s caught them in-- which gives the others the chance to hide the radio, at least.</p><p> </p><p>    “Ah, Schultz, welcome! You’re just in time--”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t need to know.” He shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop him. “The Kommandant would like to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ll have to check my dance card…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Ah, Colonel Hogan, he will not take no for an answer.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, all right, but this is under protest, I want that noted.” He lets go of Peter, tips him a wink before letting Schultz escort him off.</p><p> </p><p>    Peter manages to land on the bench and not the floor, but it’s a near thing.</p><p> </p><p>    “All right, get the radio back on.” He snaps, fishing out a cigarette just to give his hands something to do. He feels shaky, but it doesn’t show-- if he were any less practiced, he’s sure it would, though. He does have a bad feeling about Hochstetter, more than usual, but that’s not what’s got his head reeling. </p><p>
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</p><p>-ROBERT HOGAN-</p><p> </p><p>    The walk from the barracks to Klink’s office rarely feels quite so long or quite so cold. Rob tries to tell himself he’s just rattled from a recent loss, that it’s not an omen of worse to come, but the fact is, the feeling of dread that’s been hovering over him since before they’d put the plan to get Steiner in motion hasn’t left just because the worst happened and they made it through safe anyway. </p><p> </p><p>    And if Peter’s feeling the same ill-formed feeling of dread, well, Rob trusts that. </p><p> </p><p>    He regrets not having been able to say any more to put his mind at ease, though when he’s not any surer himself, he’s not sure what he could have said. He could at least have said being worried about something else looming would keep them both from making foolish mistakes. Said he needed Peter out of trouble just in case he had to use him for something, or…</p><p> </p><p>    Or what, that he needed him out of trouble because he just didn’t <em> like </em> having him get in it too often? The cooler was no more escape-proof than the rest of the camp, but it was still a punishment, and too much time took its toll even with the way they circumvented the rules. And Peter is overworked. True, he hadn’t realized he’d be spending the morning after their most recent excursion doing serious manual labor, and he’d managed to keep him on easier details the rest of the week, but even those came with their own challenges. </p><p> </p><p>    For a man who’s always the first to call himself a lazy coward, he volunteers for the hard things often enough. He’s reliable… more than. And yes, Rob would feel better, safer, having Peter at his side, that’s almost always the case. </p><p> </p><p>    And if there’s one man he wants Hochstetter to stay away from above all others? Well…</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t mind walking into the lion’s den alone. </p><p> </p><p>    “Come on, Schultz.” He says, voice low, as they move through the outer office. “Let’s make it look good for the big shots, huh? Go ahead and give me a couple of jabs as we go in.”</p>
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